Out of Time
by Rurouni Star
Summary: -mild SBHG- Hermione's got a convenient new thing called a timeturner that lets her get to classes in third year. But suddenly, a message from herself has her housing a known convict, and it's not so convenient anymore...
1. Prologue

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Prologue**

"A lifetime is more than sufficiently long for people to get what there is of it wrong."  
** -Unknown**

_Forbidden._

_Forbidden, what she was about to do._

_But the headmaster wasn't there to stop her; he would never be there again, to lend her his wisdom or his lemon drops or his understanding talks—__even if she'd for some reason _wanted _them. Even if what she was doing was all a useless gesture—__one that would destroy her soul, perhaps…_

_It didn't matter, now._

"_Sorry," she said, with an empty shrug. She was talking to no one in particular, and, in particular, to one man. He had been dead for an awfully long time now, but she knew he wouldn't have wanted her to risk herself like this—__so she apologized._

_How many turns this time? Ah, she'd figured it out, hadn't she? One, two, three, four, five__—__over and over and over again—_

_The earth blurred._

_Time moved._

_And—_

Hermione woke up with a gasp, sweating and clutching at her chest_—_feeling, for all the world, like she had just made an awful kind of decision. She knew, though, that couldn't be true. She'd just arrived at Hogwarts a few days ago, and classes had started with such a bang that she hadn't had time to make any life-changing decisions.

The details of the dream had faded from her mind, and now they fled it completely as she realized where she was.

"No!" she whispered.

Hermione was in Defense Against the Dark Arts, sleeping on the desk she'd been at, her notes unfinished.

Tears threatened to overcome her, and she covered her mouth with her hand. No, no, no, this was impossible, she'd been concentrating so _hard—_

"Ah, Miss Granger? I'm sorry, I had thought it would be best to let you sleep." Her teacher's kind voice carried down to her from the stairs that led into his office. He strolled over to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, McGonagall informed me of your special… ah… circumstances. And while the specific instructions do say it's for use only to get to classes…"

Hermione looked up, taking strength from his hand to keep her eyes from watering. His own blue eyes were twinkling mischievously in a way no other professor's ever had. "You _are_ trying to get to your class, are you not?"

Hermione nearly sagged in relief. "Oh. Oh yes, I suppose I am."

Professor Lupin winked at her. "I certainly won't tell." He then pointed at her sheet of notes with his wand, muttered an incantation, and watched as the paper filled with words.

Hermione stared at him. She'd never heard of a spell that would transcribe words straight from your head—

"Off with you," Lupin said then, straightening and brushing off his well-worn robes. "The next class is due in a few minutes. You'd best be out by then." He said it with a stern voice, but she noticed that the twinkle of amusement was still there. "About three hours should do," he added.

As she fumbled with the timeturner, Hermione decided that she liked this teacher.


	2. Meetings

**Out of Time**

**By Rurouni Star  
Chapter 1 – Meetings **

"Time is that quality of nature which keeps events from happening all at once. Lately it doesn't seem to be working."  
**-Anonymous**

The days didn't fly by half as well as they used to.

Possibly, this was because Hermione was putting in thirty-hour days.

Hermione groaned, rubbing at her temples and trying to ignore the racket in the common room. She'd made it through Defense Against the Dark Arts (a preliminary abstract of what she knew of Grindylows), Herbology (two rolls of parchment on the kinds of plants usually found in the Hogwarts area, along with some of their qualities), and she was _trying_ to write her Transfiguration paper on Animagus, but her concentration was wavering. And, she had to admit, it wasn't all everyone else's fault—she half wanted to listen to all the things one could do in Hogsmeade. Part of her mind had gone off on a tangent, already plotting what she was going to do tomorrow during their first Hogsmeade visit.

Hermione really did feel bad that Harry couldn't go with them, but she was half grateful for it at the same time. Ever since Harry had told her that Sirius Black was trying to kill him, she had inevitably started the worry process. Hermione brought her quill to her mouth unconsciously, chewing it nervously. Trouble always seemed to follow Harry. She had a feeling that something involving Black would happen by the end of the year, possibly also involving Harry and the Hospital Wing. That was just how things went.

She sighed as she realized she was getting nowhere with Transfiguration. Perhaps she should just call it a night after all, and do the essay on Sunday. But oh, she still had Muggle Studies and Arithmancy—

"Zonko's is amazing, of course, but we've made better stuff in our free time," Fred was saying loudly.

"If you want to get a quick laugh, then all right, but we've been, and you can make better dungbombs by yourself," George added.

Hermione shot them both dirty looks, but it would have taken a miracle for either of the twins to notice her expression. Hermione had stuffed herself into a corner with her books; Fred and George were, by comparison, currently swarmed by eager third-years. Then again, even had the twins seen her look, she doubted they would much care.

Hermione rose from her seat with a sigh, slipping her books in her bag and stifling a yawn. There was no help for it. She'd have to go to the library.

No one noticed as she went, of course, but that was fine. She liked going unnoticed… well, most of the time.

The portrait opened for her, and she slipped through, hiking up the bookbag that slid stubbornly down one shoulder. The Fat Lady muttered something about discourteous students swinging her around at all hours of the night, but Hermione ignored her and trudged onward tiredly. She reached the empty corridor before the library and turned a corner, eyes concentrated on the flagstone floor. The thought hit her that if she somehow managed to get all her homework done tonight, she'd be able to actually _sleep_ on Sunday—

A hand clamped over her mouth—an arm moved around her waist to squeeze her arms against her sides. Hermione's eyes widened in panic, even as a harsh voice whispered in her ear:

"Don't move."

Hermione knew who it was—who it _had_ to be—and therefore decided that she was disinclined to obey. Instead, she brought her foot down onto the foot next to her, and bit hard into the hand over her mouth, struggling to reach her wand. The man behind her seemed prepared for this, though, and all her efforts got her was the taste of blood, sweat, and dirt, and an awful lot of nasty swearing as she was dragged into a darkened classroom.

_Oh god, he's going to kill me! He's going to kill me and leave me out for Harry or someone to find, to scare them all—or maybe he's just doing it because I'm a mudblood—_

Hermione thrashed harder, and almost made some headway as he stopped to close the door.

"Would you please stop that?" the man behind her snapped. "It was hard enough to find a time to talk to you!"

The strangeness of the words stopped her for exactly one blank moment.

_What?_

It was just long enough for him to wrench her wand out of her hand. Her wand. Dash it all, why hadn't she tried to choke out a spell earlier? The opportunity was gone now, unless she somehow found the means to wrestle it from a dangerous convict. The slightest chill of fear trickled down her spine at the realization that she was now trapped, unarmed, and essentially now one unremarkable thirteen-year old girl against a full-grown wizard. Hermione forced herself to ignore the growing terror; she knew that if she acknowledged the feeling, it would only grow to an incapacitating size.

"Good," the man behind her muttered, mistaking her pause for acquiescence. "Now—if I let you go, will you promise not to scream?"

Hermione decided that now was an excellent time to stretch her lying skills. She nodded enthusiastically. Was he mad? She was going to scream so loud that the combined residents of Hogwarts would probably think they'd gotten a new ghost.

"Oh for—" There was an irritated grunt from behind her. Then: "_Silencio__!_"

With her own wand, no less. Good _god,_ how _humiliating_. Those tight-clenched hands released Hermione easily now, and the panic began to rise, pounding behind her eyes. Was he going to torture her first? What in god's name did he _want?_

She stumbled forward as far away from the man behind her as possible, turning in a clumsy pivot in order to put him in her sights.

The sight of her captor did not reassure her. The man was tall and emaciated, his tattered black robes hanging from him with a looseness that suggested they had once fit a much healthier man. His eyes stared out from dark and limpid hair like smoldering embers. Those eyes were regarding her with mixed feelings, she thought, but perhaps _mixed feelings_ were still a step up from _singularly murderous intent_.

"A while ago," Sirius Black said slowly, her wand still clenched in his hand, "you said that you would help me. Does that offer hold true, or did you decide to go back on it after all?"

Hermione stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Ah," muttered Black. "I see." He shook his head with what looked like honest disappointment. "Well, it's not as though I didn't expect something of the sort. I suppose I'll have to obliviate you now—where were you going, the library?"

Hermione regained her senses long enough to shake her head wildly, pointing desperately at her throat. She had many, _many_ questions to ask, and this particular memory was much too important to go the way of unimportant Quidditch trivia and facts about dentistry. Sirius Black was in the castle, Harry was in _danger_, and if Black was asking Hermione what she thought he was, she might be the only person that could warn anyone.

Black eyed her cautiously. It took him a long moment of agonizing decision—but he only waved the wand in a reassuringly familiar gesture, and muttered: "_Finite incantatem."_

Hermione coughed and muttered something silly, just to make sure she could talk. She looked up at him slowly, fear burning a hole in her stomach.

"You're here for Harry," she stated quietly.

Black laughed, but it was more of a harsh cough than anything amused. "I suppose this means you don't think I'm innocent anymore," he said, and Hermione saw that he was already bringing up her wand again.

She hurried to interrupt him, before he could destroy her memory. "What do you mean, I thought you were innocent—I've never _met_ you before," Hermione told him earnestly. If she acted reasonable, it was possible he would put things off long enough for her to find an escape route.

Black's brow knitted, as though he were trying to remember something. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, perhaps—a little taller, more defined—and no one that's been to Azkaban could look so _young_…" But he shook his head. "Your name _is_ Hermione Granger, yes?"

Until that moment, Hermione had been shooting darting glances toward the door. At her name, however, she choked and refocused her attention sharply. "Wh-_what?_"

Sirius Black smiled then, grimly. "You _are_ the same person. It would be because of… ah. You told me to tell you something… in case you _forgot_." He was eyeing her with interest. His tone of voice said that he would be very interested to know exactly why this condition had needed enumerating.

A thrill of foreboding went down Hermione's spine. He was _mad_. Worse- he was mad, and he knew her _name_. But… but some part of her was hesitating, entirely uncharacteristically. It was maybe something about the way he talked. No, perhaps it was something about her, some part of her that wanted to _believe..._ and that made no sense whatsoever.

"What… what did I ask you to tell me?" Hermione inquired, her voice slower and calmer than she'd thought she could manage.

"_Help Sirius Black,_" he said, with a healthy dose of irony to his voice. "That's what you said." He shook his head. "You said to trust yourself. You said it would make sense because of what McGonagall gave you. What does that mean?"

Hermione's mouth went dry.

No.

Well. Maybe.

No! What utter nonsense!

Like any sensible person that had received a timeturner, Hermione had immediately wondered about the implications, the dangers and logistics of going through time so frequently. If Hermione so happened to meet herself, she had determined, she would _not_ overreact as so many witches and wizards had done, but would calmly ask herself what she was doing. And since Hermione was a very sensible witch, Hermione would tell herself exactly what she needed to know, short and sweet, no nonsense whatsoever. In her occasional fantasies, Hermione always very strictly heeded any warnings she gave herself, unlike most any silly hero or heroine did in various time-travel novels.

Hermione bit down hard on her lower lip, now at war with herself. It was so unlikely. So _preposterous._ But... the need to be sensible, to make sure. There was such a large part of her now leaning on her to listen, _listen,_ just for a moment, and perhaps there will be that perfect explanation which brings it all together...

Sirius Black's haunted eyes watched her carefully for signs of understanding. Apparently he found them, because he lifted up her wand once more—and turned it about, to hand it back to her. "You really have forgotten," he said. "How odd. I suppose I should ask what it is you need to know?"

Hermione took the wand from him numbly. Black's hand was still bleeding from where she'd bitten him, she noticed. It was dripping onto the classroom floor, while he entirely failed to take notice or even to staunch the bleeding. It was one of those little details that jumped out at you for no reason whatsoever.

"I..." Hermione looked back at his face, dazed. "I don't know," she said. "I suppose... you could just start from the beginning?" she offered tentatively. The last vestiges of her very rational fear railed at her quietly as she said it; but this was commitment. There would be no going back from here.

A strange look overcame Black's face—a bit of disbelief, perhaps even a bit of hope. A large weight lifted from his shoulders as she watched.

"You—you believe me," he whispered. "I really thought I was dreaming. I thought they'd finally found a way to suck my only coherent thought from me."

Dangerously—Hermione believed him. That wild look in his eyes—the deep destruction she could see carved into his mind and body—she knew what had done it to him. And worse, she was beginning to suspect that he was (unmercifully) still quite sane.

"Dementors," she whispered.

Black flinched as though she'd struck him, and she found herself regretting the word. "Start from the beginning," she told him again. Black closed his eyes, working hard to compose himself. He moved toward a classroom chair, no doubt ready to give up his footing for quite some time— "No, wait," Hermione interrupted him, with a reluctant look toward the door. "Is there somewhere safer we can go for this?"

_Why in god's name am I trusting myself to a mass murderer?_

Hermione brushed the thought aside. _I am entertaining a hypothesis and getting information at the same time. And I have the only wand. _

It was shaky, as self-arguments went, but it was enough for the moment.

"There's—yes," Black murmured, shaking off his exhaustion. "Yes, of course. It would have to be somewhere Moony wouldn't know... right, that leaves one." And then.

And then.

There was a large black dog.

It was bigger than a dog had any right to be, was her first thought. In fact, the word 'dog' barely failed to cover the thing that had suddenly come into existence only a few feet from her, nearly tall enough to reach her neck. 'Dog' was a word used to describe playful, faithful mutts. It did not apply to slavering, mangy black creatures with teeth the size of adult fingers. Its very presence took up the entire room, brooding and menacing in the extreme.

Hermione choked, stumbling backward and lifting her wand. She got out half of a vicious hex before the dog blurred shape once again and became a familiar convict with his hands very carefully lifted between them. "Easy," said Black cautiously, eyes fixed on her wand. "Sorry about that. It's been a while since I've been around… well, people who don't know."

Hermione managed a nod. Barely. Her heart was back to thump-thumping in her chest like a battering ram.

"I'm going to change back," said Sirius Black. "Just in a few moments. That way, no one will stop you in the hallway for following around a convict. Sounds reasonable?"

Hermione nodded again. She didn't trust her voice. She barely trusted her wand-hand, at this point, as it had begun to shake very slightly.

But the dog was already back; this time, it lowered its head to its paws, as though to show deference. _Look at harmless me,_ the posture said. _Couldn't hurt a fly. _This was possibly less reassuring than intended, being that the dog still had that matted, wild look about it, as well as one bloody paw.

Slowly, the dog straightened itself. It looked her in the eyes—how incredible, the eyes were a dog's as well!—and then it was slinking toward the door of the classroom. It paused to lift one paw, resting it lightly against the wood of the door. It took Hermione a second to realize that Black was asking her, in polite doggie fashion, to use her opposable thumbs on his behalf.

It took Hermione most of her rather impressive Gryffindor courage to walk close enough to the great mangy hound to open the door. She could feel his warmth; could hear his soft, panting breaths. She turned the doorknob with the slightest of quivers, then stepped back abruptly, more worried with the safety of her hands than with showing a bit of very justified trepidation.

Black noticed her fear. It would have been difficult for him not to notice, she thought dimly, him being a dog. She heard a soft, almost worried whine from him; he ducked his head again, in some kind of vague doggie shame. It was such a very pathetic sight that Hermione actually reached out to pat him gingerly on that large head, only halfway aware of what she was doing.

The dog's ragged tail gave one light thump against the stone. It straightened once again, and slid out the half-open door.

And that, Hermione decided, was just enough of that. For the rest of this night, she was going to refuse to be surprised by, well, _anything._ The healthy thing to do—why, the only thing to do at all—was to save it all up calmly and be _awfully_ _surprised_ later, all at once.

With that settled, it was almost a trivial matter following the large dog down the dark, quiet hallways of Hogwarts. Hallway after hallway—another one, twisting and turning—Hermione walked up stairs and through strange corridors, trying to keep a mental map of it all inside her head.

When they came upon a very final dead-end, Hermione paused, then turned to backpedal for the hallway. Her robe caught as she moved, however, and she looked back to see that the large black dog had taken the very edge of her robe stubbornly in its teeth. It jerked its head (and her robe) gently toward the wall. Hermione stopped and looked at it with a puzzled expression.

The dog spit her robe out, and turned toward the wall once more. Then Sirius Black was back, suddenly and with no fanfare whatsoever, and he was pushing a certain brick on the wall and murmuring a word—_patesco—_beneath his breath.

And he was walking _through_ the very end of the wall, right where it met another_._

He obviously expected Hermione to follow. So she did, of course.

_Of course.__ I have nothing to lose, after all—except my life. And possibly Harry's and Ron's, maybe add in the rebirth of Lord Voldemort if you're feeling generous…_

It was still possible, though highly unlikely, that the convict had come up with this story exactly to get her somewhere no one would look for her, and then to kill her, or worse, put her under the _Imperius_ curse, like she'd read they used to do—

He was cleaning away quite a few cobwebs and dust from a low coffee table in front of a couch, and looking strangely pleased about it.

"Hasn't been used," Black muttered. The wall behind Hermione snapped shut neatly, sending clouds of little dust particles billowing around her. Hermione sneezed and tried to brush the light coating of dust from her robes, but she only succeeded in rubbing it in more thoroughly. Finally, she simply pointed her wand at the room and muttered, "_Scourgify_, damn it all!"

It wasn't a word Hermione usually used (damn, not _Scourgify_), but she figured she was stressed enough to let off a bit of heat.

The room cleaned up immediately, and Hermione's robes turned good as new. She sighed as her sinuses relaxed in relief, and sat down in a chair across from the couch. She noticed that there were a few rusted old wall sconces with the remnants of torchwood pointing out of them. Hermione pointed at them with her wand, and absently gave them a bit of unburning flame to light the place. Black made himself comfortable on the ratty red divan, his movements now exceptionally wearied and uncomfortable.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, realizing for the first time just how badly off he was. Even knowing that Black was a well-known murderer, Hermione couldn't help but feel her concerned instincts kick in as she imagined how his ribs might be showing beneath the robe. Perhaps she could get some food- but no. No, she was going to get an explanation first.

But after that—if he was, indeed, innocent—_then_ she would be getting him some food.

"I suppose I should start," Black said heavily. "Although honestly, I never expected to be explaining this to a thirteen-year old…"

Hermione scowled, but said nothing. Her age was… a touchy subject, at best. She was used to people looking down on her, of course, even as they told her how brilliant she was- but to have it from a man who'd supposedly killed twelve muggles and a wizard… well, and then there was the part where she was probably the only one stupid enough to listen to his story.

Black didn't seem to notice her disgruntlement. He was concentrating too hard on trying to remember something.

"It started with Hogwarts. I don't know if anyone's deigned to tell you, but I was part of a rather tight-knit group of friends. We _thought_, rather foolishly and naively, that we could trust each other to the death. Obviously, we were wrong."

Hermione bit back the instinct to say, _Weren't you the one that went bad?_ She was grateful for it, a moment later, when she saw his pained expression.

"Who betrayed you?" she asked instead. It was the intuitive leap, maybe—but even so, she wasn't quite sure how she had made it. The sudden, jarring certainty inside her that it was the right question to ask... that was probably something to do with her adrenaline. It really rather had to be, didn't it?

Black ignored the question, for the moment. Some part of her thought, _yes, he's trying to work his way up to talking about it, probably never has._ It was the same part of her that had trusted him so instantly, had decided he was in need of a solid meal. "There were four of us," he said. "Peter Pettigrew. Remus Lupin—"

Hermione gasped. "No—_Professor Lupin?_"

Black looked at her with something that almost resembled amusement. "I didn't expect him to be teaching here, but I was lucky enough to catch sight of him on my way in. The job fits him, I suppose…" He shook his head. "And then, there was James."

_Potter_, her mind supplied numbly. _James Potter._

"Harry's dad," Hermione managed. "But that's—"

"Entirely coincidental, if you ask the Ministry," said Black darkly. "But very important. Because after we graduated, James found out Voldemort was after him and his son. He decided to go into hiding." His face turned grave. "You probably don't know what this is, but his wife, Lily, cast the Fidelius charm—"

"I know what that is," Hermione interrupted, before he could go into explanations. "A secret-keeping spell. It's very complicated, though. I could only make out about half of it."

"Half?" Black said in surprise.

Hermione shifted uneasily. "Yes, well, maybe after this year in Charms… Arithmancy will help quite a bit with the diagrams as well, I should think."

Black shook his head slowly. The expression on his face as he regarded her was now shifting, becoming something slightly more respectful. "No. No, half is… well. Half is more than most wizards would comprehend in a lifetime, unless they were specialized in Charms. Are you?"

Hermione licked her lips and shook her head, suddenly self-conscious. "Maybe you should—" She waved her hand forward nervously, to indicate that he ought to continue.

Black nodded, pushed reluctantly back on-track. He didn't want to talk about it, she could tell. "Yes, well… in any case, I was supposed to be the secret-keeper. It would have been so much easier if I'd let it go at that, but then I had to go and change things up stupidly." His voice turned bitter. "I as good as killed Lily and James. I told them to use Peter at the last minute. We didn't tell anyone, not a soul, not even Dumbledore. Peter was our best friend, the little snake, we couldn't have even _imagined..."_ Black's voice had begun to grow more heated as he went on; his eyes had picked up that terrifying, murderous gleam that Hermione had first been expecting from him. But now, he suddenly lapsed into silence, and his manner went dull and tired. He shook his head minutely, lost in some dark mood.

"He told," Hermione said for him. "He told someone, and you killed him for it."

"Yes," Black said softly, pulling his fingers through matted ebony hair. "I tried to kill him. I messed that up too, now, didn't I?"

Hermione saw the moment when he sank even further into that dark depression. It was blame, self-loathing, that she saw in his slouched form, in the dried brown blood on his neglected hand. It was certainly guilt in that manner, a horrible black guilt that was quite sufficient for murder. But it wasn't mad.

Hermione felt the flutterings of sympathy within her. They were quite unwelcome—Black had still murdered thirteen people in cold blood. But he looked so wracked about it, so _pitiful—_

"Wait," she said suddenly. "You _tried?_"

Black looked up at her slowly. It seemed to be an effort on his part. "He didn't kill those muggles for fun," he said dully. "He did it to cover himself. He faked his own death. Even I didn't know, until recently." He tugged a small piece of paper from his robes, and slid it across the table toward her. Hermione looked down at it curiously.

It was stained and crumpled from its long abuse. But she could still make out the paper's name—_Daily Prophet—_and the family Weasley portrait, all of them waving and smiling up at her through the wrinkles in the paper. Ron, in particular, gave her a sheepish sort of grin, as though to say: _Well, er, didn't expect to be seeing you here, now did I?_

"I don't understand," Hermione said blankly.

Black reached over slowly, to place his finger on one of the figures. His nails were torn and bloodied too, she thought, underneath all the dirt and grime.

"Yes," Hermione said testily. "I see. Ron Weasley. I know him quite well, and I can assure you, had someone replaced him recently, I would have noticed."

Black shook his head. "Not the boy. The _rat._ You see? _It has a missing toe._"

He said this urgently, as though it ought to have meant something to Hermione.

Worryingly... it did.

"They only found his finger," she said. It was another of those dangerous leaps of intuition, up out of nowhere but the mystifying depths of her own brain. Hermione would have been much more at home with the thought, had it happened more naturally; her thought process was a known variable, an analytical process which went from step to step to step and invariably came out with a number of very probable answers.

This answer had not come to her through a long and comforting string of deductive steps. It simply... was.

Black seemed impervious to her sudden discomfort. He was staring down at the rat on Ron's shoulder with a worryingly neutral expression.

Hermione rose to her feet and groaned.

"I must've forgotten how packed this year was for me," she muttered to herself sourly. "Giving myself something like this to worry over… and going against the _law_…" It was a petty complaint by comparison, perhaps, but it was one of the few things she felt safe in complaining about aloud. Immaculately conceived thoughts and convict-feeding seemed too odd or too sensitive to broach.

_Maybe,_ a dread voice whispered in her head._ Maybe something so horrible happened that you had to change it._

It was Hermione's voice. It was her Voice of Reason, and it was making her suddenly very uncomfortable and quite ready to leave.

"Stay here," she told Black, with more authority than she felt. "I'm going to go get some food."

Black's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Hermione straightened herself up and shot him a severe look. "I am _not_ going to go tell the Headmaster. Lord knows you're probably winding me up, waiting to kill me with some dark magic I haven't yet guessed at, but I _believe_ you. You want my wand? You want to silence me? You're going to have to start trusting me at some point if you want me to help you."

Black nodded grudgingly at this, but Hermione had a hunch he was agreeing more for his stomach's sake than from trust. Oh well. Couldn't build a castle in one night, after all.

Hermione moved to go through the wall, but Black moved to stop her, closing slim, bony fingers around her arm tightly. She jumped in shock at the touch, but forced herself to swallow newly-terrified shivers down as she turned to look at him.

His eyes were haunted again. They were flickering with fear and despair and resignation. "Please," he said quietly. "Don't send me back to Azkaban. You're smart enough to know… you've met the Dementors."

A shiver went down Hermione's spine as she stared into those dark, lightless pools. She didn't want to know what kind of horrors could turn a man into this.

"I won't," she said clearly. "I won't tell anyone. _Trust_ me."

He let her go, hesitatingly, and nodded.

She left the room with trepidation, still, and had to stop to lean heavily against the wall behind her. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep, desperate breath.

_What have I just promised?_


	3. The Kitchens

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 2 – The Kitchens**

"Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."  
**-Douglas Adams**

She was lucky. Had it been only fifteen minutes later, she would've been out of bounds going to the kitchens. As it was, she was going to have to hurry. The thought struck her that the invisibility cloak would be _very_ useful at this point, but she'd promised not to tell. And Harry… who knew what Harry would think. She had prided herself on being the cool headed one in the group and she'd _still_ almost shrieked herself hoarse.

As Hermione turned another corner, keeping in mind the last turn, she found herself at the kitchens, finally. A house elf greeted her excitedly as she came in, and soon she found herself surrounded by a swarm of them.

"Is Miss hungry?" one piped happily. "We have tea and cookies!" He held up a very loaded platter, and Hermione found herself tempted. She hadn't actually eaten since that morning, having skipped lunch to do homework… but she held herself back.

"Oh yes," she said, trying to sound just as enthusiastic. "I'm very hungry. Do you- do you think you have anything more   
filling-"

Hermione tried not to jump as about ten other house elves surrounded her, each pushing boxes and platters her way, their high voices blending into one another to become one giant mass of incomprehensible chatter. She groaned.

"One at a time?" she asked hopefully.

Then blanched as she realized her mistake – each one decided to go "one at a time", and louder…

-----

Hermione decided that next time she had to go to the kitchens, she would bring the invisibility cloak and just steal the food. It was an uncharacteristic thought, but the elves had been so very helpful that she shuddered at the thought of ever asking them for help again. Her arms had been stuffed full with dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner again, snacks for in between, desserts, and three separate jugs that held different drinks. She wondered what time it was and whether she'd be able to get back to the secret passage at all, balancing this load. And really, the smell of roasted chicken was making her weak in the legs as she remembered she hadn't eaten very much that day.

"Hermione?"

Her eyes widened and she jumped in fright. Various packages of food scattered – she moaned and covered her eyes, unwilling to watch.

But…

No sound of food hitting the floor was heard.

She cautiously opened one eye.

Professor Lupin smiled at her, and let the containers float gently down to the ground, arranging themselves into a convenient pile.

"Whatever are you doing with so much food?" he asked her gently. She swallowed. Normally, she would have been ecstatic to see her favorite professor – she barely ever had the time to talk to him lately, what with, well, _school_. But now- he was the exact _last _person she wanted to see. Perhaps barring Snape.

"I-" she squeaked. "I- well, I was hungry, you know, I hadn't eaten today, and they just kept shoving more and more at me-"

He chuckled. "Oh yes, I should have remembered. The house elves are like that." Lupin gestured at the pile of packages and they floated into the air once again. "Perhaps…" His face turned indecisive. "Do you think you would be up to learning a new charm? I would help you with these, but I was just on my way to Professor Snape's office."

Hermione nodded, relieved. "Okay then," he said with a smile, "watch closely and follow my pronunciation."

He swiped his wand across himself, then pointed at each package in turn. "_Legatus_."

She watched as the packages rose as one, arranging themselves neatly into a line, then filing into order behind him. He grinned once before pointing at them one by one – as his wand rested on each, it began to lower itself gently to the ground.

Hermione found herself inordinately nervous as he looked at her expectantly. Hesitantly, she raised her wand, crossed herself with it, and pointed at each of the parcels. "_Legatus_," she said quietly.

To her surprise, they rose almost at once, moving behind her like a trained army. She felt her mouth split into what must have been an enormous grin.

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Well done. I'd say that's five points to Gryffindor for mastering a charm your first try." He winked at her and said, "Just don't tell anyone I'm not the Charms teacher."

If Hermione's smile could have gotten any bigger, it would have. Instead, she said, "Thank you, Professor Lupin."

He nodded and moved to continue walking – but slowed just as she started walking. Hermione stopped abruptly with a surprised sound.

Lupin turned around with a strange expression, as though he'd just thought of something important. He looked at her intently. "Hermione," he said, in a very serious voice, "I was wanting to tell you – I am quite aware that you've taken on a great burden this year. And while I'm sure you're up to it, no one can keep up a rapid pace for a year straight. Should you ever need something, do come to visit. And-" The corners of his mouth turned up at her packages. "-if you want to talk to someone, I am always here."

She felt her mouth fall open. No – he couldn't. No. He didn't know.

If he'd known, she would be in Dumbledore's office by now – or worse, in the Ministry – so he _couldn't_ know.

"Th-thank you," she managed. "That's very good of you."

Only now did he look at her penetratingly, as though sensing her unease. But her innocent expression must have fooled him (she didn't know how – she didn't exactly practice it routinely) for he continued his walk to Snape's office.

Hermione began to run as soon as he was safely out of sight, and hoped the packages also had some kind of sense of speed.

-----

It had to be some kind of miracle. She'd made it there, undetected, unhindered by staff or students, and all under fifteen minutes.

Hermione cast a hurried glance behind her before tapping the wall, speaking the word, and rushing inside, pulling a few reluctant packages along behind her with both hands. They seemed to almost sullenly settle as she pointed at each in turn.

It was only after she'd stacked them into a neat pile that she realized she didn't know where Black had gone.

_No! He **did** trick me, he's run off to do who knows what-_

A sound from the couch made her jump for the second time that night, but she breathed in relief as she saw the dark man's figure laying on it. His breathing was sharp and erratic, and at first she thought he might have been injured and she hadn't seen it before. But as she looked closer, she realized he was asleep.

_Ah. Well. Being on the lam from most of __England__ will do that to you._

She set up a small dinner and stored the rest of the food in a neat corner, wishing the place had a cabinet or at least a counter. By the time she came back to eat something herself, the man was clenching his fists until they were white and muttering something under his breath.

A horrid curiosity seized her, and she leaned forward to listen, to gain some understanding-

"Not Prongs- not Lily-"

Hermione choked as she felt a vertigo seize her. _Prongs. Prongs is familiar. Why is Prongs familiar?_

Something set off in her head, then, and she cried out, grasping at it vainly to calm the fire that raced along it-

_"-we came to write the Marauder's Map, and sign it with our nicknames-"_

_"Two more for Azkaban tonight-"_

_"-a **tame** werewolf-"_

_"But if- if there was a mistake-"_

_"KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL-!"_

_"They'll be very pleased to see you, Black… pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay…"_

**_EXPELLIARMUS!_**

Hermione gasped as a hand shook her, pains still shooting through her head, pounding with something, but not with blood, because blood didn't _burn_ like this-

"What-" she breathed. "I can't- what _is_ it-"

"Are you all right?"

Spots danced before her eyes, and she winced as the pounding in her head intensified suddenly. She waited a moment before rising to her knees and putting a hand against the table – had she _hit her head_ there? – and her sight was suddenly clearing, and…

"Sirius?" she asked, confused. Because he was in the Shrieking Shack – no, he wasn't, he'd gone into hiding-

"Yes?" he responded.

The strangeness left her, the memories that weren't hers faded, and the pounding died away slowly. Hermione winced, rubbing at the bump on her head. "What happened?" she murmured. "I can barely remember now…"

He grunted and helped her to her feet. "You fainted. I'd guess stress, myself."

She nodded vaguely. Yes. She was under a lot of stress, just like Lupin had said…

"Oh!" she said. "I got food."

He smiled – the first true smile she'd seen on him. "I noticed," he said. "In fact, I hope you'll forgive me if I eat a bit. It's been twelve years since I had any decent food…"

Well.

Far be it for her to interrupt.

"Go ahead," she shrugged. "I've got something of an appetite myself."

He shot her a confused look. "You seem to be taking this much too calmly," he informed her.

Hermione realized that this was so. She tried to examine herself, to understand why this was, but all she could come up with was that she was hungry. "I suppose so," she said. "I'm sure the panic will come later, in the middle of Potions or some such thing."

Black chuckled, and she picked up a small part of the dinner the house elves had showered her with, moving back to the chair and picking at it slowly. The thought occurred to her that she was out of bounds, that she couldn't possibly get back without notice…

And then she remembered that she was a witch with a timeturner.

Handy.

So she decided to take her time and make herself comfortable, thinking all the while about what she was going to _do._

"What is it, exactly, that you want to accomplish?" she asked the possibly-innocent man before her idly, toying with some cinnamon apples.

Black leaned back, seemingly full and already looking much better than when he'd arrived. His eyes flashed dangerously, though, and she was immediately reminded that she was in the presence of a criminal, innocent or not. "I'm going to kill Peter, of course."

Hermione could have laughed, but she didn't.

"What is _that_ going to get you?" she asked.

"Revenge," he replied promptly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Men. All alike, no matter the age. "Look, if you kill him, there goes your innocence. Poof. Back to Azkaban." At his flinch, she remembered she probably shouldn't remind him… "But, on the other hand, if you manage to catch him, you'll be free to go and he'll be sent to a living hell. Isn't that more befitting?"

Black seemed to consider this reluctantly. "Obviously, it would be better if I could capture him," he admitted. "But he's currently endangering my godson, and I can't leave him be like that."

Hermione blinked and looked up at him. "Godson?" she asked faintly.

The man raised an eyebrow, and she could have sworn, just for a moment- but no, there was no way he could be related to Malfoy. "Didn't you know? Or, no – I suppose they would've kept that under wraps too. I'm Harry's godfather."

The shock must have shown on her face, but he continued. "In any case, Peter has placed himself perfectly to kill him if he wants… it's going to be hard to get near him like that. He's taken an unknowing hostage, in effect."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, thinking hard. "How would he do that, though? I assure you, I haven't seen any wizards named Pettigrew hanging around Harry recently…"

The convict stared at her, as though to say _You're smart, figure this one out._

_Pettigrew… Peter Pettigrew… an Animagus…_

She swayed as something tried to take hold of her again, and the voices came to her again, except they were soft and hazy, as though she were a radio with bad reception.

_"That's not- a rat-"_ one of the voices spasmed.

_"-a wizard-" "Pettigrew."_

Hermione swallowed, pushing harder this time, and the strange voices stopped, shoved over a dark precipice somewhere in her mind. But the message was clear.

"Scabbers," she whispered.

"What?" he asked.

Hermione rubbed at her temples. "It's Scabbers. Ron's rat. Oh god-" she laughed incredulously. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation. No. No, no, no – Ron's rat – it's a _rat!_ It sleeps and eats and takes up space and so what if it's missing a finger-"

"Hermione-"

"It's a _rat!"_ she said, suddenly angry. "I am not here, having this conversation with an insane, escaped wizard. I am _not_ talking about a dead man as though he were alive and a _rat!"_

She could feel the tears coming now, and she was curling in upon herself, sitting up in the chair and hugging her knees. "You're mad," she said. "I'm mad. Got the voices and everything to prove it."

Black watched her with an inscrutable expression – then leaned across the table to close his hands around her wrists, prying them from her knees.

"You are not mad," he assured her. "You're simply having that breakdown we were talking about. Believe me, if anyone's got a right to doubt their sanity, it's me, not you."

She shuddered, trying to fit it all into her mind, but it wasn't working – the pieces were getting squashed and stuck, like they didn't quite snap together right. And the voices were taking up space, only she'd just now noticed because they were at the very bottom…

"I don't understand," she whispered. "This shouldn't be happening."

_Bastards. Leaving me all alone to deal with this, when they **know** awful things always happen to people that tamper-_

Black had released her wrists, now, and was leaning back into the couch. "How many subjects are you taking?" he asked mildly, as though it were an everyday occurrence, talking to an Azkaban escapee.

"Twelve," she muttered, suddenly embarrassed at her outburst.

He coughed in surprise, nearly spitting out a small gulp of apple juice he'd been taking. "Wh- _what?"_

She groaned. "It's not fun, I assure you. But I'll get a better idea of what I want to do this way, and it looks really good on college applications-"

"I take it back," he told her, shaking his head and laughing. "You _are_ mad."

Hermione hmmphed. "Yes, well, why don't you tell me how many _you_ took while you were here?"

Black waved his hand. "At least four less than you, that's for sure. Although, I must say, I did rather well at them." He raked his hand through his hair, suddenly looking infinitely younger. "How are your grades, taking all of these at once?"

She flushed a dark red color and mumbled something.

"What was that?" he asked. "I couldn't hear you."

_Obviously,_ Hermione thought hotly to herself. _Never expected Sirius Black to be such a **smartass**-_

"I said," she repeated a little louder (but not much), "About… um… a hundred and ten percent. Except in Potions, but no one gets good grades in there except the Slytherins."

Another incredulous laugh. "It figures I'd get the best witch in the school looking after me. I should count myself lucky. Well, my little third year, what's our plan?"

He must have missed her glare. No, he was looking straight at her – that meant he was doing it on purpose.

"_Our_ plan?" she said. "_We_ do not have a plan. I haven't been able to think coherently since before the beginning of the year. I'm afraid you're coming up with your plan, Mr. Black." _I'm an idiot. I am, I know I am. One night and I'm already saying I'll help him in whatever he comes up with._

His face took on a thoughtful expression. "I suppose I'd first better get cleaned up. I seem to remember being pretty strict on a shower every day… rather hard to accomplish in Azkaban, after all…" Black's face brightened at something. "I _could_- yes. As long as Remus doesn't make the rounds tonight…"

"If you mean Lupin," Hermione said, "He's gone to Snape's office. I don't know what he's doing, but I have a feeling he'll be out for the night because he wasn't looking too well." She frowned. "Of course, he never looks too well…"

The man across from her frowned suddenly. _Snape?_ he seemed to mouth to himself – but there were more important issues, apparently, because what he _did_ say was, "What kind of night is it?"

Hermione blinked.

"I don't know, it's the middle of October- why?"

Black watched her with a guarded face. "I suppose trusting you with another secret won't do much at this point, but it's not mine to tell…" he murmured. Nevertheless, he mulled it over for a moment. "What phase is the moon in?" he asked, finally.

She shrugged. "I'd guess it at three quarters because next week's got a full moon – why?"

He immediately relaxed for some reason, but she didn't comment on it. "Well then, that's that," he said. "I'll be going out for a bit," Black told her with a smile, as though she were his mother. "Be back by morning, surely – you can check up on me then, if you want, and we'll go to stage two."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to imitate him. "Stage two?"

"Getting my map back."

With this, he walked straight outside. Hermione almost let out a cry of disbelief that he could be so stupid – but when she followed him out, all she could see was a black tail, disappearing behind a corner.

Well.

That was that.

Her night's work was done – having successfully housed an escaped convict, stolen some food, and waved said convict goodbye as though he might not be going to perform dark magic on one of her friends, Hermione felt she was just about ready to go to bed.

One, two, three.

The hourglass spun.

And she ran back to the common room, just as she knew her other self was leaving.

Her dreams were not pleasant.


	4. Not on the Way to Hogsmeade

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

Chapter 3 – (Not) On the Way to Hogsmeade 

"If you obey all of the rules, you miss all of the fun."

**-Katherine Hepburn**

Morning was a decidedly bad time to remember one's nighttime misdeeds.

Hermione was currently holding her head in her hands and wondering if she'd been hit with a Confundus charm at some point during her and Sirius Black's conversation, convincing her that he was somehow innocent. Because honestly – Ron's rat?

She groaned unhappily and got out of bed, slipping reluctantly into her robes and going downstairs into the common room.

Harry was already up and staring at her. "Hermione," he said, "Why aren't you in your casual clothes?"

She blinked.

Ron bumped into her from behind. "Oh- hey, Hermione, why're you all dressed up? Hogsmeade doesn't mind if you take a day off, you know…" he trailed off uncertainly at her expression, partially shocked, partially anticipating some kind of anvil to fall.

"Um – Hermione? Hello?" He waved a hand in front of her face. "Look, are you feeling all right, because I'll pick some stuff up for you if you want to stay…"

She looked at Harry once… and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think I'll stay. I- I still have homework to finish."

A yowl behind her made her jump – and a ginger ball of fur went streaking past her, following another desperate blur with all its might. Hermione managed to catch the cat just in time as Scabbers clawed his way up Ron's pants and into his pocket to curl up into a quivering ball of fright.

"Get that _thing_ away from my rat!" Ron told her angrily. "What does it think it's doing, anyway, it's not fair to pick on disadvantaged animals-"

Hermione didn't manage a reply. She only stared at the rat in Ron's pocket, a hissing Crookshanks following her gaze. She blinked again. _Rat.__ Scabbers. Pettigrew. Oh god, I'm starting to go mad again._

She shook her head, let Crookshanks down, and hurried away, unknowing of the two suddenly concerned gazes that focused on her back.

-----

"Which way was it… oh yes, this way, I think…"

"Hermione?"

_Not again. Oh god, you would not be so cruel to me…_

"Professor Lupin!" she said brightly. "Did you ever get that business with Snape done?"

He looked very tired, but he was smiling. "Yes, yes, it's all settled out. And did you eat your dinner all right?"

She blushed. "Um… some of it. I've still got a few days' worth to go, though, I think."

His face turned concerned, though, a moment later. "Why aren't you at Hogsmeade with the others? Or are you trying to find the pick up point?"

Hermione swallowed nervously. "Well – well actually-" Plausible. Something plausible. "-I was going to finish up my homework today. I mean Ron offered to buy me a few things, so I thought I might use my time better getting some loose ends tied up…"

Lupin gave her a strongly disapproving look. "Now Hermione, I'm as much for working hard as everyone else, but I'm sure you've been wanting to go to Hogsmeade just like the other students. As your teacher I think I'm required to admire you, but as a person, I must insist that you march straight back up to get to Hogsmeade with everyone else."

She blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me," he told her in a stern voice. "Go on. I'm requiring it – as a learning experience. I'm expecting to hear a full report on how many awful things you bought in Zonko's."

_Oh._

Any other time, she might've giggled at the way he'd tried to _make_ her have fun. Right now, all she wanted to do was disappear into the wall.

"I- I really appreciate it, Professor Lupin, but I've got a lot to do, and so much has come up…"

She tried to look suitably disappointed (not hard) and he sighed once before apparently giving in. "You're going to work yourself much too hard," he told her quietly. "I know, I did it to myself in my fourth year."

Hermione shot him a shaky smile. "Yes, well, I'll just have to do my best. I'm sure I'll get through it somehow."

She moved past him with a friendly look (well, she certainly hoped it was) and into the hall beyond. At first, she was worried he might have followed her, but then she heard Harry's voice from behind her, and she knew Lupin would be taking him into his office to look at the Grindylow-

_But how do I know that?_

Hermione bit her lip – _hard_ – then hoped it was a very good guess. She hoped harder than she'd ever hoped before.

She slipped inside the wall again, wondering if Black would still be there. She'd just given him the opportune moment to escape…

_But what if he doesn't want to escape? What if he's a dark wizard but he's using me to keep him safe and fed-_

For some reason, this explanation didn't seem valid. She didn't know why. Her mind had just rejected it outright and spit it out.

_"Sirius!"___

A happy voice, that one, and it sounded slightly like Harry, even. She shook her head. At least the voices were quieting down. They'd really been going the whole time during her first few conversations with Black, but now they were seeming to become manageable again. Hermione had, quite healthily, she thought, decided to ignore them. They weren't real, and eventually the voices would realize it too, and disappear.

A muffled sound came from the couch, and she immediately knew this time that it was her strange criminal… friend? Perhaps that was a bit much. Acquaintance, maybe.

Hermione moved closer to the couch.

He was thrashing now, moaning, as though his soul were being wrenched slowly and painfully from him…

But Hermione was frozen stiff by his transformation, overnight as it was.

Clean-shaven – clean _period_ – with new robes (even if they did look like extra Gryffindor robes, enlarged) and soft black hair falling into his tormented face. There were still shadows beneath his eyes, and there were hollows in his face that would take weeks to fill. But…

He almost looked the part of innocent, now.

"James…" he gasped hoarsely. "No, I didn't- believe me-"

Hermione's eyes widened and she swore as a vision came to her like something in a pond…

_Cold.__ Cold and dark, there was hunger all around, and they loved to brush you with their robes as you walked by, but they couldn't hurt her as much because she'd practiced and she **knew**-_

_"James. James, listen, please listen, it wasn't me-" The pleading voice of the damned man._

It wasn't her memory. But it _felt_ like it, almost like it, so much that she could remember the biting winds, the darkness from the place, the need, the suffocating _need_ to get out-

Hermione threw herself against the memory with every bit of might she had, displacing it with a hiss of pain.

It wasn't hers. It _wasn't hers._

But-

He was still having a nightmare. She should wake him up.

Hermione reached her hand out, down, to shake him.

A desperate cry escaped him – it hurt her almost as though it were a knife, cutting deep into her heart. Somehow, she knew what it held in it. Pain, the deepest, darkest pain that any living being could experience, the kind that made you _want_ to die-

"Mr. Bla- Sirius," she corrected herself in a quiet voice. "You're not there anymore. You're at Hogwarts, remember?"

He was shivering, gasping for air, and she felt pity inside of her because she suddenly knew, very acutely, that this man did not deserve these memories. In the same way she didn't want her own mockeries of life, the visions that had so suddenly decided to plague her.

And then he looked up at her and his eyes flashed, just for a moment, taking her in – his manner immediately changed to that of the man she'd talked to the night before. The seemingly carefree adult that could bicker with her almost on her own level. But it was too late – she'd seen him hide the truth, and it wasn't something she would easily forget just because he tried to make her more comfortable.

"Ah. Hermione," he acknowledged, as though she hadn't just woken him from his personal hell. "Did I manage a decent job, or do I still look like a stray dog?" The corners of his lips twitched.

She frowned but said nothing about the unspoken things. "I don't know," she told him lightly. "You look half decent, I suppose. As Madam Pomfrey would say, though, you need some meat on your bones."

He ran his hand through his hair – he seemed to do that when he was nervous, or covering up. "Yes, I'm sure she _would_ say that. Thank you for the food, by the way," he added, almost on instinct. "I've found myself hungry at the oddest times…"

Hermione smiled in spite of herself, feeling a little glow light inside of her at the thought that she might be needed. "Yes, well… I supposed that might be the case. I'm almost glad the elves thrust it all on me…"

He chuckled. "They still do that, do they?" He then sobered for a moment. "I suppose I ought to tell you, if you end up going in there again… I don't want you getting into trouble on my account-" She snorted. Nice way of going about it, Black, having me set you up, get you food, come visit you like this- "Well I don't," he said quietly. "But there's another way into the kitchen. You know the painting of the fruit, with the pear in the middle? Tickle the pear and it'll let you in."

Hermione filed away this highly useful piece of information, even though she was almost certain Fred and George could have told her the same.

"Now then," Black said. "I think there's a few important rules we need to set-" Again, she had a few ironic thoughts about this, "-first off, you can't tell _anyone_ about this. Not a single soul, no matter how much you trust them."

She nodded. She'd expected that.

"Also, and most importantly, you can't treat 'Scabbers' any differently. If he even _suspects_ you know…" His face turned grim. "Well, let's just say you wouldn't notice until you were dead in your bed."

"Poor Ron," she muttered, though she still couldn't quite bring herself to believe the rat story.

"I'm _serious_," he said suddenly. "Don't do anything out of the ordinary. I can't do anything for you unless I'm with you. I'm sure you'd be ecstatic to know I'd avenge your death and all, but I was going to kill him anyway."

Hermione sighed. "I'm not stupid. I know you must have the most amazing opinions on thirteen year olds and their infantile minds, but I've already spent my first two years at Hogwarts getting tangled up in consecutive plots of Lord Voldemort's to kill Harry. I didn't die then, and I severely doubt that if the Dark Lord didn't manage it that a rat will."

That was exaggerating a bit, but it was worth the look on his face.

"I – _what?_" he managed.

"Another time," she told him. "Anyway, I don't know how often I'm going to be able to come down here. Already, I've met up with Professor Lupin twice-" Black twitched a bit at his name. "-and if it happens again, he's going to start suspecting I haven't actually gotten lost on my way to the library."

The man thought about this heavily for a moment – then nodded to himself.

"Hermione, I think I know a way to keep you from having to come down so much. And it would let me get to the kitchens on my own and investigate without being pounced on."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's quite some plan. What's it involve?"

He drew his teeth over his much-abused bottom lip. "Well… it would actually involve you stealing James' invisibility cloak."

The convict didn't have to wait too long to see the expected reaction.

"WHAT?" she screeched. "No! Of _course not!_ Not only- well, I shouldn't because I shouldn't be trusting you that much yet-" He grinned at her as, obviously, this was not a true reason at this point, "-and he's very proud of it, it's one of his only things of his father's-"

Sirius' smile faded at that. "Yes, I should've expected that…" He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing circles in it. "I suppose… well. I suppose I could do something about that, actually."

This surprised Hermione so much that she stopped talking.

"I have a few things in my vault. Not nearly as valuable, but things he and I shared when I lived with him, during the summers…" His face went studiously calm. "If I could somehow get access…"

Hermione shook her head. "That's an enormous risk and you know it. The goblins may not care too much who their customers are, but if anyone happened to overhear…"

"Yes, well, I'll see what I can do about it. In the meantime, there's something else that would help a great deal if I could get it back."

"A map," she said, scrutinizing his face carefully. "You said so last night. What, does it lead to buried treasure or something-"

"You're thinking like a muggle," he told her. "It's magical, of course. Shows the school, who's where, what they're doing, and it has a few good passages out marked on it."

Hermione shook her head. "I've never heard of a map like that. It would've taken years and a great deal of magical power to make-"

"_We_ made it," he emphasized. "All four of us. I'm going to have to find it at some point. This room isn't on the map, but if I have to leave, or if someone happens to see that you keep coming to a certain dead end and just disappearing…"

Frankly, she had her doubts. But she told him she would watch for it.

"If anyone knows how to work it, the keywords are sort of hard to miss," he told her – then demonstrated each on a spare bit of parchment.

She did have to admit… 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good,' was not something someone usually said in everyday conversation.

At the point where he finished telling her about the wonderful niceties of Hogwarts and diverged into a tangent about getting lost in the stairs one year, she smiled.

"I have a few rules too," she informed him, "while we're at it."

His mouth fell open in surprise. Obviously, he'd not been expecting her to retaliate in kind, being a young girl…

"Firstly, you're not leaving this room unless it's something important. Secondly, no more scaring Harry witless – he thinks you're the Grim, by the way – and thirdly, no dark magic. Which, I know, not much of a problem, but it's there if I need it." She grinned. "Seeing as you have no wand, it _really_ shouldn't be a problem."

Sirius contemplated this a few seconds before pulling out a long, sturdy oak wand. "I should think this counts as a wand," he told her.

She decided she really didn't want to know where he'd gotten it.

"Now then," he told her with a wink. "Why don't we see about getting you to Hogsmeade before you lose your whole day there?"

Hermione blinked at him, having completely forgotten the day. "What- how did you find out?"

"Halloween's always a Hogsmeade day," he told her. "And while I'm very much flattered you'd rather make top secret plans with me about killing rats, I'm betting you need a day off from all that homework."

Before, she hadn't quite trusted him. Hadn't even always liked him. But that cinched it for her.

Sirius Black was now a very good friend.

-----

She thought she could hear voices around the corner, but it might have been her imagination. Because now that she could see, the Humpbacked Witch was clear in all directions.

Hermione wondered where all of her new daring rule breaking spirit had come from. She certainly hadn't possessed it before…

Before what?

_Before I started becoming someone else.__ Before I had someone else's memories of talking about invisible dungbombs to distract my teacher from my friend's communicating in a fire…_

She shook it off. She _had_ to forget these things. They were really, really beginning to scare her.

Hermione interrupted her own thoughts to tap the statue and murmur "Dissendium." If it really worked… he might be pulling her leg, for fun…

It opened, grinding out of the way rather more loudly than she would have liked. She bit her lip before looking both ways and diving in.

It was something of a slide – down into darkness, until she hit a plateau and had her feet on the ground. Ground?

Ground was not this soft.

"Owww…" moaned a voice – a _very_ familiar voice – beneath her. "Fred, I told you before-"

"What are you talking about, George," said a slightly annoyed voice from up ahead.

Hermione panicked. George let out a surprised 'oomph!' as she hopped over him and tried to run for it. A hand caught her ankle, though, and her chin hit the ground hard.

She hissed in pain before George – she was assuming it was George – had the gall to _sit_ on her. His weight settled on her chest and she gasped for breath before kicking vainly at him, trying to dislodge him.

"Oi, Fred, we've got a live one!" he said with a laugh.

"Oh?"

She struggled valiantly, but in the end, the two pranksters managed to hold her down, one taking her shoulders and the other her legs. "_Lumos__,_" one muttered.

Hermione cringed and then decided that _now_ she wanted the ground to swallow her up.

"_Hermione?_" they both said at once, almost sounding impressed.

George got up immediately, offering her his hand. "Well now. _Well_ now. That's certainly something else. Watch us go in, did you?"

"Watch you – what?" she managed. Her head was throbbing again. Jerks.

Fred and George exchanged glances in the pale, flickering light of Fred's wand. Hermione had a feeling they were communicating, even if they weren't speaking out loud. She frowned.

"If you're wondering how I got down here," she told them, "I was going to go to Hogsmeade myself. I was late to the pickup, so I decided to come this way."

George shifted uneasily. "You seem rather knowledgeable about secret passageways," he told her. She saw Fred fumbling with something in his pocket, though, as his twin tried to distract her.

_"Mischief managed."_ The words were quiet but unmistakable.

How very, very coincidental.

"Yes, well, I discovered this one quite by accident one day," she spouted airily. "Practicing my Latin, you know."

The parchment went back into his pocket and the two relaxed quite a bit more. "Well then," George told her. "If you're going to come along anyway…"

She stiffened in surprise as each twin grabbed an arm, pulling her along with them cheerily. "Never seen Honeydukes' before, I would imagine," Fred said happily. "Their chocolate's the best."

"The Three Broomsticks has some good butterbeer – you won't have had that, unfortunately-" chimed in George.

"And _Zonko's_. Amazing place, really. First class merchandise."

Hermione dug her feet in stubbornly at this (even though she was quite outmanned and ending up being dragged anyway). "I thought you two said their stuff wasn't near as good as yours," she said suspiciously.

They laughed together, and she felt it vibrate through her, setting her teeth on edge.

"Truly, it's not," George managed.

"We've come up with better stuff, of course, but then, we're very good," added Fred.

They came up short of the end of the strange tunnel, and heaved as one, pushing their hands upward into the ceiling with practiced ease. Hermione found herself pulled up after them unceremoniously, and she huffed in indignance. But what she saw next was hard to ignore.

Candy. Barrels and barrels of it, shelves full of it, boxes with logos she'd never seen before. Some of them even wiggled gently, as though something inside were trying to get out but was being completely unsuccessful.

Before she could take this all in, the twins had picked her up by the arms and made a hurried dash for the stairs. They opened the door tentatively, then grinned at each other as a loud and quite obvious Lee Jordan asked for help in an aisle. Hermione thought she would faint by the time they got into the shop, becoming for the moment, very regular customers.

She glared at the two Weasleys for the moment, but they didn't notice – and by the time they had actually turned around to regard her, her face of anger had collapsed into an adrenaline-high giggling fit.

"Good lord!" she said. "That's how you kept getting in here without going by carriage."

"Fun, isn't it?" George asked with a grin. "It keeps us sharp for the real stuff." He looked around for a moment, then cleared his throat and leaned in toward her. "You can't tell anyone, of course."

Hermione thought about this for a moment, long and hard. Fred and George both gripped their wands tightly at her face, but there was more behind this than they knew. Normally, she would be dreadfully worried that Sirius Black was using this tunnel… but she had, after all, been the one to help him. What a quandary.

"Pleeease, Hermione," wheedled Fred. "It's important!"

She sighed. "I… I suppose. But you two need to keep an eye on this place, you don't know who could be getting through," she said, with a significant look toward the wanted poster outside the store.

"Wonderful!" George breathed. "Promise, really, Hermione, you're the absolute best!"

"We'll get you a toilet seat yet, just watch," Fred told her with a relieved smile.

-----

After a very strange but very fun day with Fred and George (they were wonderful when they weren't pranking you) Hermione found herself trying to figure out a way to very delicately get hold of the Marauder's Map. It just wouldn't do to ask them. Oh, she could imagine it:

"Fred, George? I'm helping Sirius Black hide in the castle so he can kill Scabbers. Could you possibly lend me that magical map he told me about so I can keep him from getting caught?"

"Oh, certainly, Hermione. Just as long as you return it by next school year."

Actually, come to think of it, they might say that. But she wasn't taking chances.

It just so happened that she'd been studying ahead the summer before school – just a little bit of fourth year material, to keep her sharp. One of the charms she'd looked at was the Summoning charm. She'd never been able to try it, of course, but she'd managed to understand the basic theory… and she'd bought some extra parchment in Dervish and Banges, just for this reason…

Hermione slid into the loose floorstone with Fred and George, and thought, unhappily, that there really was no time like the present.

She stayed a good distance behind them as they walked side by side, talking animatedly about the certain items they'd acquired in Zonko's – things that would be put to good use, she was certain.

She really, really didn't want to do this. They were _nice._ And they were Ron's brothers. And…

Ron. Rat. Pettigrew.

This would be her chance to find out, once and for all. And if it was true, then he was dangerous.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, concentrating on the piece of parchment sticking out of Fred's pocket. She summoned up her strength courageously, hoping she could somehow manage more than the twitter of paper she was undoubtedly going to get.

Finally-

"_Accio__ Marauder's Map,_" she whispered with trepidation.

The paper twitched feebly, but did little else. She moaned, casting her eyes ahead to make sure she had time. No sign of the exit yet…

_"Accio Marauder's Map,_" she repeated, a little more firmly this time.

It tugged, just a little, and her heart leapt into her throat. _Yes._

And then-

_"Summoning charms, Harry, you point like **this** and say-"_

"_Accio_," she gasped, not believing it, not wanting to-

But the map flew to her hand, and she stuffed it hurriedly into her bag.

And then, the paper she'd prepared…

"_Pello__,_" Hermione whispered shakingly, banishing it.

The parchment flew to Fred's pocket, and she tried not to cry in relief as the deed was done. The results would show in a few days, of course, and if they thought she'd had anything to do with it, no map in the world would save her from their wrath…

As soon as they'd cleared the exit, Hermione gave them each a nice big hug (feeling very, very sorry for what she'd just done) and went sprinting off to the common room.

Fred pulled the Marauder's Map from his pocket, tapping it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered with a look at George, wishing they could've used it like usual to make sure they didn't get caught in the cellar. But with Hermione around…

George blinked. Then looked closer at the parchment.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers_

_Regret to inform you that the Marauder's Map has been closed indefinitely for repairs._

Fred gaped.

"Did you know it could do that?" he asked George.

George shook his head. "I didn't know it _needed_ repairs. It's a map, for goodness' sake!"


	5. Variable Truth

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 4 – Variable Truth**

"Insanity -- a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world."  
**-R. D. Lang**

Having the map was strangely satisfying. She had, of course, played with it (who wouldn't?) and made absolutely certain that the map did not show Sirius' hideout before timeturning back an hour. The secret passages were interesting – she hadn't known about the one behind the mirror, and she'd definitely have to ask what in the world the Whomping Willow was doing on top of a passage to the Shrieking Shack…

_"-to transform-"_

_"What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?"_

_"A thought that still haunts me…"_

Hermione shuddered. Scratch that. She really didn't want to know.

But there was still one very, very important thing she had to do with this miraculous map. And it had quite a bit to do with Ron.

She sighed and walked up to the dormitory, wiping the map and tucking it into her pouch. How low had she fallen, helping a criminal, stealing a map – _from the twins!_ – and now she was about to check and see if her friend's rat was an Animagus.

If this was a trick, someone was laughing very hard at her right now.

She spoke the password to the Fat Lady softly, and felt her eyes widen as she was immediately pounced upon by two boys.

"Hermione!"

"Where _were_ you, we were worried!"

"Lupin said you were going to do homework, but we checked the library-"

"-and the common room, _and_ the Great Hall-"

"-went to the Infirmary, just in case-"

Harry and Ron stopped short as she began to laugh. Not just to laugh, but to _laugh_, and laugh hysterically at something that shouldn't have been near so funny.

"Hermione…" Harry said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Oh, yes, yes, it's just- you two looked so funny-"

"Well I'm glad _you_ thought so," snarled Ron. "Good lord, we thought you'd been kidnapped by Black or something, Harry was all ready to send out search parties…"

Hermione licked her lips and put her head down. "I'm sorry," she told them, "I was in an empty classroom, it was quieter in there…"

Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, though. _I don't want to lie to them… why should I have to, I could just tell them, surely they'd understand…_

She looked up then, to see Ron glowering at her and Harry looking somewhat unhappy to be stuck between them and she bit her tongue.

_No. They **wouldn't** understand._

"I'm sorry," she offered feebly again. Then, on inspiration – "Hey Ron, where's Scabbers gone off to?"

The red-headed boy frowned. "What, so you can sic that beast of yours on him again – I don't think so!"

She stared at him, uncomprehendingly, for a moment. She was risking her life – more than that- to try and make sure they were safe…

Hermione shoved past him, putting her head down. This was not something fun and it wasn't a game. Some part of her knew that much too well – a part that was screaming sometimes, for Harry and Ron, for Dumbledore, for _Sirius_…

"Wait, Hermione, that was-"

She cut off Harry's voice by slamming the door to the dormitory shut. She then walked, quite calmly, to her bed – and collapsed into sobs.

She didn't need this. Not now.

-----

"Hermione? Hey, Hermione, are you okay?"

Parvati's voice barely penetrated the screen around her bed. Hermione woke up hazily, not quite sure where she was or why her face felt scratchy and inflamed.

"Hey, Harry said he and Ron were worried, you sort of disappeared up here-"

"I'm fine," Hermione clipped her off easily, though had her face been visible, it would have told a much different story. "They're just overreacting is all."

"Oh," said Parvati in obvious relief. "All right then."

The interruption to her nap had not been welcome, but it _had_ reminded her of the needful.

Hermione reached down to her bag and pulled out the square of parchment. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she murmured, feeling oddly silly as she did so. Her wand tapped the paper…

And lines wove out from it, creating a now semi-familiar floor plan of the castle. Hermione quickly looked for the girls' dormitory – a dot named Hermione Granger was sitting on her bed. Parvati Patil's dot was quickly leaving and going down toward the common room…

Where Ron and Harry were sitting in their chairs.

With Peter Pettigrew.

Hermione swayed. There it was. Undeniable proof. _If_ she wasn't insane.

Which was debatable, recently…

_"Sweet girl… clever girl…"_

_"Don't touch me!"_

_Very_ debatable.

She hurried down the stairs, hiding the map in her robes and keeping her head down. As she emerged from her room, Harry leapt up to see her – but Ron stayed stubbornly put in his chair by the fire.

Harry nudged him none-too-gently, but the Weasley didn't budge. 

"Hermione-"

"I'm going to go do some homework," she announced. "M-more of it."

And she passed him by quickly, shutting the Fat Lady behind her.

Hermione watched the dot labeled Harry Potter move toward Ron Weasley and Peter Pettigrew, and she felt a sudden wave of sickness clench her stomach. He was so close to his father's murderer, and he didn't even know it… and she couldn't _tell_ him…

_"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?"_

_"You should have realized, if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."_

She managed to wipe the map before rushing into the girls' bathroom and throwing up violently into a toilet.

-----

When she limped into the room behind the wall, pale-faced, Black rose immediately to help her.

"What happened?" he asked, a note of panic in his voice. Because of course, he would think the worst, that Peter had attacked them…

"Nothing," she gasped. "Nothing, I'm just…"

As his hands closed on her shoulders, guiding her to the couch, she heard it still-

_"…we **will** kill you. You agree, Harry?"_

Hermione pushed and pushed and pushed, but the voices weren't going away now that she was in Black's presence. They seemed, in fact, to be getting stronger.

She pushed him away, a hand over her mouth, and groaned, pulling out her bookbag. Homework. Homework, like she'd said. It would clear her mind, it _had_ to.

"What on earth _happened_ to you?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she repeated. "I'm stressed."

_That,_ she thought ironically, _is a very mild way to put it._

She found the map folded in one of her books and shoved it at him. "Yours," she told him. "Take it."

And, as Sirius Black stared at her with wildly varying emotions crossing his face, she began to write down everything she'd ever known about Animagi.

_Wizards that use magic to turn into an animal they have a particular affinity with… animals often resemble the wizard and their personality…_

_How could they have missed Pettigrew, then?_ she wondered with a headache.

_You need to register to be a legal Animagi, because the process of becoming one is so dangerous…_

And then, the ludicrous thought hit her and she couldn't help it. _Black is an Animagus, Professor, does he count as one of my famous ones?_

She sighed and let her head thud into her book.

_If I survive this year, it will be a miracle._

Meanwhile, Black was watching her closely. "It seems that Harry and Ron are looking for you," he told her, darting his eyes between her figure and the map.

She nodded her understanding against her book, thudding her head into it again.

"They're probably worried."

_Thud._

"Okay then. Just letting you know."

-----

Homework. Done. It had to be a miracle.

And yet, she desperately wished, for once in her life, that she had more of it. To keep her mind off of the day, to lose herself in it and stop hearing those blasted voices. Black didn't seem to have caught on yet, blessedly. If _he'd_ called _her_ insane, she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep herself from throttling something.

With a groan of weariness, she stumbled over to the wall, ignoring very hard the dinner Black had started into. Food was not the best thing to think about right now.

"Bye," she told him.

And left.

Turns.

One.

Two.

He hadn't been watching the map then, so it was okay.

Hermione heard the footsteps rather than saw the two people they belonged to.

And collapsed into a tired heap at their feet.

_"I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my **dear**, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires."_

"HERMIONE!"

Her eyelids fluttered once.

"Liar," she muttered.

And everything went black.

-----

She awoke to white walls, cotton sheets, and a very nasty headache.

But-

"Gone," she whispered, amazed. "They're gone!"

The voices had disappeared again, or at least gone into a kind of hibernation.

She gazed out the window, then realized it was light outside. And groaned.

"Oh just peachy," she groused. "I missed the Halloween feast."

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to her almost immediately, tutting and cooing over her 'delicate condition'. "Typical stress symptoms," she insisted. "I've been trying to tell them it was a bad idea, letting you take all those classes-"

"It's not the classes," Hermione interrupted indignantly. "I'm quite capable of taking care of _those_. All my homework is done!"

The nurse shook her head. "Still, it can't help your condition-"

"What condition?" she muttered.

Still, the woman caught her words. "Your body is very weak. You've been pushing yourself somehow, though I'm not entirely sure _how_ you could accumulate such an amazing amount of exhaustion…" She narrowed her eyes at her. "How long has it been since you slept?"

Hermione was thankfully saved from this question by a door opening quietly. However, at the face of her 'savior', she quickly decided she'd have rather stayed with Madam Pomfrey.

"Hermione," Professor Lupin acknowledged quietly.

She meant to say hello. It came out as more of a frightened squeak.

"May I speak to her alone, Poppy?" her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor asked kindly.

The nurse scowled at him, but it was very hard to stay angry at Lupin with his ever-pleasant expression. Her suspicion faded slowly. "I suppose. Don't strain the dear, though, she looks like she's had a rather trying time of it…"

Hermione stared at him as the other woman walked from the room, waiting for the cloud of disappointment or the angry betrayal that might signal he had discovered Sirius…

The door closed.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You wish to explain?" he asked her.

And, before she could stop herself, she shook her head 'no' emphatically.

The older man laughed, unable to stop himself. "Hermione, I have stayed out of your life out of a respect for you and your talents. But at this point, I really must insist that you tell me why you have so suddenly become… like _this_." He gestured at her and she immediately felt very uncomfortable.

"It's… it's not anything big," she muttered. _Liar._

He smiled gently at her. "Hermione, you may tell me anything at all. Big or small, if it has you in this condition, you obviously need something."

_Oh, yeah right. You don't really mean that. "Hey, your best friend, the murderer, is in the castle. I've been trying to get him back to sanity while I'm slowly losing my own…"_

She swallowed, though, and decided she would settle for a half truth. Hermione's hand went to her timeturner self-consciously as she began to talk.

"Professor," she said quietly. "I've been fighting with Harry and Ron a little… normally it wouldn't matter so much, but with the extra strain, it's not going well. If I'd _only_ been fighting with them, it would be different, and if they weren't fighting with me right now, it would be fine too. It's just that together, it's been rather…"

He nodded in sympathy. "I can certainly understand, Miss Granger. You've been having stresses from all sides. If you wish, and only if you wish, I could talk with Mr. Potter…"

_"He showed me the Grindylow… I'm most afraid of the Dementors, imagine that…"_

"Th-thank you but no," she said. Why? Why were they coming back _now?_ The only logical explanation was that certain people triggered them… but these weren't quite so bad, around Professor Lupin. Most of the memories dealing with him seemed to be rather gentle.

Black, on the other hand…

Lupin put a comforting hand on her arm, and she noted that he was looking even more haggard than ever. "If you should ever need some tea, you know where to find me," he told her, rising and walking toward the door.

_"GET AWAY FROM ME, WEREWOLF!"_

Hermione choked at that one, gasping quietly. Lupin turned around abruptly, but she turned it into a sneeze.

"T-take care of yourself," she advised him weakly. "You don't look too well, Professor."

He smiled. "I've been through worse," he told her, "but thank you for your concern. This bug should pass in a few days, I imagine."

Hermione lay back on the bed as he left, staring at the ceiling apprehensively as the voices quieted again.

Things were just not working out this year.


	6. Snape

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 5 – Snape**

"You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you."

**-Eric Hoffer**

She was, of course, up and running by Monday.

Class. Timeturner. Class. Timeturner. Class. Deal with Ron and Harry. Class. Timeturner. Class. Timeturner. Class. Lunch, somewhere in there.

Over and over and over, it was beginning to wear her out. Luckily, the voices seemed only to come in waves and to recede at almost regular intervals. By the end of the night, though, when she snuck away to nip more food for Black, it was getting dizzily mixed up in her head.

"All you all right?" he asked her as she chewed on a bit of chicken.

"Sure," she muttered, reading her Muggle Studies book avidly. "Just got to finish a few chapters…"

He didn't ask her again after that. In fact, he didn't ask her anything at all, which made her somewhat nervous. After all, as soon as he found a way into his vault, _she_ was going to have to make the switch…

Tuesday was more madness. Her head hurt by the third timeturn, and her stomach began to growl partway through Arithmancy on Wednesday, and by the end of the night when she made her way to Black, she was becoming very much fond of the little room where everything was quiet and she could get her homework done without any distractions but a dark haired murderer (who was looking better and better by the day, thanks to the food she'd gotten him).

Thursday, Hermione woke up late. Not only did she have to skip breakfast because of this, she had to use her timeturner in a slightly uncomfortable fashion that reminded her vaguely of misuse of a powerful magical item.

It was Potions, first thing, of course. For the first time that week, a voice interrupted her during Potions as she stared at Snape, looking particularly tense behind his desk.

_"He's got it, just on his left arm, I **saw** it, Hermione-"_

"What are you staring at, Granger?"

She blinked, trying to clear her head as Harry and Ron each gave her a furtive but supportive look.

"Sorry, Professor," she managed, "I- I'm not feeling very well."

He frowned more deeply at her. "Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of attention."

She managed to make it through the rest of the class, surprisingly, but by Defense Against the Dark Arts, after lunch, she was fairly close to keeling over. Lupin, though very, very pale looking at this point, seemed to go easy on her, asking her questions to which he knew she knew the answers.

Hermione gave him a very grateful smile as she left, which seemed to revitalize him a little.

_"I know it's hard, Hermione, he was my friend too… I can assure you, though, that everyone will be missing Padfoot horribly in the days to come…"_

When she stumbled into her secret room, as she called it in her mind, Black had to catch her before she hit the floor.

"I'm _never_ going to get through this," she muttered into his robes, spitting out his sleeve.

He shrugged. "I did warn you."

As she settled, exhausted, into her large chair, he watched her with shadowed eyes.

At one point, he opened his mouth to say something… but closed it again a moment later, as she nibbled desperately on the end of her quill and flipped through her book for the Grindylows' region of origination...

Then, just as all hope seemed lost, he was suddenly leaning over her shoulder, smirking.

"Britian," he told her.

She blinked sleepily. "What?"

"I said, they originated in Britain. They live in the bottom of lakes here."

Hermione looked up at him, sure that she had shadows under her eyes, but feeling too much gratitude toward him to care. "You're sure?"

Black rolled his eyes. "I've already been through this year. Here, look – I'll finish this for you and charm the handwriting to yours-"

"That would be _cheating!"_ she said in surprise.

He laughed and scratched at the traces of a beard that had appeared on his chin, "Oh come on, you're helping a known convict evade arrest. How much worse can you get?"

Normally, this wouldn't have flown with her at all, but it was a token of just how tired she was that she let him take the paper.

"I'll – I'll be reading it, though," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "And… I'll make sure… I know it… for the exams…"

Things were getting blurry. It was just so hard to keep her eyes open…

Something warm was draped across her back, and Hermione found herself snuggling into a very convenient pillow. Funny, that had been on the couch, how had it gotten beneath her head…

Sleep took her.

-----

Waking up was an experience, in and of itself.

Firstly, Hermione's neck hurt. Probably because she'd somehow managed to get to sleep leaning on the table with a much-too-soft pillow beneath her head. A blanket had been pulled around her, but had slipped off sometime during the night.

Black was nowhere to be seen.

She gasped, stumbling to her feet and swaying as the blood rushed to her head all at once.

And there, sitting on top of the table, was a neat stack of books, correlating papers sticking out at the tops like bookmarks.

Everything. All her homework. All in her handwriting.

_Bless_ him. He was an awful liar, but bless him all the same.

But where was he?

Hermione yawned, and was just wondering what time it was and whether or not she'd have to change time to make it to her first class (What was it again? For that matter, what day was it?) when the wall opened abruptly, and a slightly damp Sirius Black moved to sit down on the couch heavily, Marauder's Map clutched in one hand, wand in the other.

"Where were you?" she asked.

He looked up, surprised, perhaps, that she was awake, then grinned. "Shower, obviously. You don't really think I'd want to end up like Snape-"

"I thought it was important things only!" she said, not quite angry but not quite happy with him either.

Sirius shrugged. "Seemed like an emergency to me. Anyway, not much danger of me getting caught with this thing." He tapped the map once. "One of the reasons I needed it, for going outside."

She sighed, too tired to argue, but already feeling much more refreshed than the day before. "What time is it?" she asked, stretching. "I hope no one noticed I never came back…"

He scrubbed at his hair, annoyed, as the water seemed to want to stick. Hermione choked back a laugh as he seemed only to stick it up more in the process. "It's about six o' clock," he informed her. "Quite enough time to go back to sleep, if you want."

Hermione stared down at the parchments on the table, then smiled at him. "Thank you."

Black waved his hand. "Oh come on. I've been through my NEWTs, none of those can even touch seventh year."

But she could tell he was pleased.

And, for the first time in a while, when she looked at him, she didn't see anything, didn't hear any voices.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "I haven't been helping as much as I ought…" She tucked a curl behind her ear nervously. "I suppose I've actually been in your way a bit-"

"Nonsense!" he said, amazed. "You'd have done enough just by helping me here and getting me food. You even got the map back for me, and I was expecting to see it at least a couple of months from now. Besides which, you're _company_." He strode to her briskly, sitting down in front of her. "Do you have _any_ idea how wonderful it is to just have someone around again?"

She was sure she was blushing to the tips of her hair roots. "Probably not," she said quietly. "But I can imagine."

He got up again, ruffling her hair in the way he knew annoyed her, making her seem a child. "Go ahead and take the couch. You've got a couple of hours before breakfast in the Great Hall. You might even eat something here, to save yourself time."

Hermione did so gladly, but found that she was still thinking about the Invisibility Cloak. _He gave me a scare when I thought he was gone – what if someone had seen him while he wasn't looking at the map? I don't even know where he'd go to find a shower, they're all in the dormitories…_

She decided that it would help too much for him to have the Cloak, poor Harry not withstanding. There just had to be a way to find something to replace it, or almost… her eyes drifted shut tiredly, and her mind wandered…

Hermione sat up abruptly. "Sirius!" she said. He turned to her in surprise.

"Yes?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Crookshanks. Crookshanks can help, I know he can. He's smarter than most owls I know, and he's good at hiding…"

"You'll have to talk a bit more sense," he told her wryly, munching on a stick of cheese.

Hermione shook her head to clear it of its lethargy. "If you know anything in particular that would work, Crookshanks could get it from Gringotts. All he'd have to do is take a note – no one's going to notice if a stray cat wanders in!"

He blinked, looking at her intently. "You know… it's possible. As long as I have it delivered to you, by the cat…" He frowned. "But you'd have to switch the Cloak yourself, Hermione. No, that's not going to work, if Pettigrew saw you-"

"What?" she said, incredulous. "Are you insane? You were just saying, the other day-"

"No," he told her flatly, and she thought that perhaps she was seeing a little more of his famous stubborn side. "You are not putting yourself in danger like that. I'll get into the dormitories somehow-"

"And get yourself killed," she told him. "Look, we both know it's better if I do this. If Harry wakes up, I can always tell him I need to borrow the Cloak and do it another night. If he sees _you_…"

The man frowned, obviously trying to find a way out of this logic. He seemed to decide to settle for steering the conversation away from choosing. "We don't even have anything to switch it with yet. Why don't we get it first and then decide?"

She was sure there was something sneaky about this, but she sighed and relented. "Have you any idea what to get from the vault?"

He paused, thinking hard. "There are a lot of pictures, but I somehow doubt he'd appreciate seeing me and his dad together in all of them. I have a few of his old school things – wait! I have quite a bit of the things from when he was on the run-" His expression was concentrated, trying to remember twelve years past.

Hermione meant to help him, really – but the next thing she knew, he was shaking her awake gently.

"Time to go," he told her.

Her dream was finishing, even though she'd opened her eyes. And for a moment, she was in the library, and it was dark, and she was – under the invisibility cloak?

_"Thompkins"_ the spine read. And she knew it was important.

She blinked and was brought back to the real world and Sirius was looking at her strangely.

Hermione yawned and shook her head to clear the sleep from it. "Thanks. Today's… Friday, I think. Herbology."

She picked up her books with a last grateful look at Sirius, then slipped out of the room. With a last, quick look around, Hermione started on her way to Herbology.

-----

After about five classes, she had finally made it to the last class of the day. Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She felt something twist nervously inside her. If Lupin really was… the night before would have been it. And now that she was going into his class, she felt hesitant. What if it stirred up more of the violent voices this time…

"Are you going inside or what?" Dean demanded from behind her. She gave him a weak smile, then headed inside.

Only to stop immediately, stunned. This time, Dean echoed her.

Snape was sitting at Lupin's desk.

"Sit down, please," he sneered. "You're holding up the class."

Hermione looked back, bewildered, and noticed that this was true. People were trying to get inside.

She moved to her seat, trying to decide whether or not to be happy about this new development. On the one hand, Snape did not conjure very many voices. On the other hand – he was Snape.

Ron sat next to her, then, his own gaze on Snape. "You reckon he killed Lupin?" he asked her.

Hermione shook her head. "No. I just think he tied him up and left him in a closet." _Not._

Ron snickered at this, but he turned to look at Harry's seat next, a puzzled expression on his face. "Where's Harry?"

"How should I know?" Hermione asked, leaning down to push some of her extraneous books beneath her desk, tucking a curl behind her ear.

Her friend turned to her curiously as she leaned back with a relaxed sigh.

"You're certainly looking better," he said. "Get a massage or something while we weren't looking?"

She smiled. "No, just got all my homework done. It's an amazing thing, you should try it sometime-"

"We will begin class now," Snape said, rising from his desk. "Your usual teacher is not available at the moment, so I will be taking over for him. The notes here are not well organized-"

Hermione tuned him out for a moment, twisting her head slightly to look at Harry's still-empty seat. What was he thinking, being late-

The door opened hurriedly, and Harry gasped. "Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I-"

Snape turned to look at him with a nasty smile that seemed to say Christmas had come early. "This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

Harry's face had taken on a funny expression. "Where's Professor Lupin?" he asked.

"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today… I believe I told you to sit down?"

Harry still didn't move, and Hermione quashed the instinct to hiss at him. "What's wrong with him?" Harry asked cautiously.

Snape's eyes glittered with a kind of satisfaction, and Hermione instinctively knew there would be more points taken in a moment. "Nothing life-threatening." Sure enough- "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."

Harry went to his seat then, and Hermione cast him a strange look, wondering if he could possibly have guessed…

If he had been thinking about Lupin more, though, his expression didn't show it. He was glaring unabashedly at Snape, who (thankfully) was not looking their way as he expanded on Lupin's lack of preparation. The last word she heard was

"-werewolves," and Hermione immediately jumped. How could he- not in class, he couldn't say that-

"Werewolves?" Ron muttered. "Aren't they at the back of the book, though? Why today-"

"Sir," she said quietly, inwardly relieved. "We're not supposed to do werewolves yet, Professor Lupin has us down for Hinkypunks-"

"Miss Granger," he said in a cold voice, and she shrunk back at suddenly having caught his full attention. "I was under the impression that I was teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." His gaze swept the room. "_All_ of you! _Now!_"

She swallowed hard and did as he said, noting as she did the table at the top of the book that listed a few important procedures for proper disposal of werewolves…

_You bastard, Snape,_ she thought suddenly, surprising herself with her language. _I know why you're doing this._

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" he asked silkily, and now that she knew what to look for, she could see the genuine pleasure in just the asking of the question.

Hermione raised her hand calmly. She knew. She wanted him to know that she knew, and more importantly, that she didn't _care_.

He seemed not to notice her hand, though. "Anyone?" he said, smiling in a chilling way. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between-"

"We told you," Parvati interrupted, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on-"

"The snout of the werewolf is more angular," Hermione interrupted her. "The eyes are human instead of wolf, though they can see just as far. The paws are padded differently and the tail is shorter."

Everyone turned to look at her in amazement, but inwardly, she was wondering exactly the same thing they were. How had she known?

Hermione stared at Snape with what she hoped was an expressionless face. His eyes were boring into hers, though, and the thought came, unbidden, from that part of her she still didn't understand-

_"He's an Occlumens, if he catches your eyes, he can-"_

She diverted her gaze to the wall behind him, breaking contact immediately. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

She felt her gaze shift to the floor, her face reddening. How _dare_ he- angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes-

"You asked us a question and she knows the answer!" said Ron, from beside her, "Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

Hermione looked over at him wildly, immediately knowing he'd done something stupid. "Ron-" she hissed in a desperate voice.

"Detention, Weasley," Snape told him in a frighteningly even tone. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

The class ended badly – two rolls of parchment on how to recognize and kill werewolves. Hermione couldn't stop herself from glaring at Snape at the end of class. She hoped she'd gotten her message across (the one where she wished he'd spontaneously combust) but she doubted it since he wasn't even smoking.

Harry was saying something from next to her as they left, wondering about why Snape seemed to hate Lupin so much.

Hermione's mouth set into a line. "Because Snape is an evil git," she told him shortly. "And Professor Lupin isn't."

Ron came out before Harry could answer this, saying something very rude about Snape that would've made Hermione's face burn just a few weeks ago. "Why can't Black be after _him?"_ he muttered angrily. "He could at least do the world a service if he's going to be a mad criminal."

Hermione swallowed, not comfortable on the subject. "Let's not talk about him, please Ron?" she said.

She hoped they thought it was because she was worried for Harry.

Hermione found that night that she wasn't able to get out to see Sirius, but she half wished she could have told him about Snape and his hatred toward Lupin. She had a feeling he'd be able to tell her why.

-----

Hermione woke with a yawn, trying to ignore the whistling winds and pounding rain outside. She fumbled with her outdoor robes, remembering just in time that Harry had a game today.

With a look outside, she wasn't sure she wanted to see what would happen to him in this.

Perhaps she should go see Sirius, though – it would take a turn or two on the timeturner, but she was too far past breaking rules now to worry about that little problem.

She slipped out of the dormitory and clicked the timeturner once, waiting for the world to stop spinning before she got her bearings and went down to the commonroom.

To her surprise, Harry was already there, sitting by the fire glumly. Probably thinking about how awful the game was going to be.

_"I miss him, Hermione. It won't ever go away."_

"Hermione," he said in surprise, looking up as she froze, staring at him. "What- it's half past four!" he told her in a whisper.

She waved a hand and swallowed. "I heard you get up." She moved to sit down in the other chair, staring into the flames. She couldn't leave with him here. And, to tell herself the truth, she really didn't want to. She'd barely gotten to see Harry this year, and it was nice to just be able to sit near him in silence for once.

"Hermione," he said suddenly. "What's going on with you recently?"

She blinked and looked at him.

"What?" she asked intelligently.

Harry turned to look at her, face half-lit by the flames. "You've been really strange. Half the time I feel like you're not even listening when I talk."

Hermione sighed heavily. "It's been such a long year, Harry," she told him tiredly. "I feel like everything's decided to happen all at once, and it's not a good feeling."

She lapsed into a troubled silence, thinking about all of the things she wished she could tell him. That he had a godfather that loved him enough to risk his soul for his well being. That she was really putting in longer days than he was. That she was hearing things that couldn't possibly be true but that turned out to be that way one way or another. That she'd suddenly developed a penchant for rule breaking and she didn't like it in herself.

Instead of telling him all of these things, she said, "Harry, what do you want for Christmas?"

It was important that she get him something nice, for putting up with her. And maybe to offset her guilty conscience.

He seemed surprised. "For- for Christmas?" he wondered aloud. "I don't know, you usually get me a-"

"Book, yes," she confirmed. "But… I really want to get you something good this year. Something you'll like."

Harry grinned. "You could always get me a Firebolt," he said.

Hermione laughed and pointed at his current broom. "That seems good enough to me," she said. "Good enough to refrain from a couple hundred galleon upgrade."

Harry sighed. "Worth a shot, you know," he told her in an over dramatized voice. "But seriously… whatever you get me will be good, I know. Even a book."

She rolled her eyes. "That doesn't help me much, Harry," she told him. "But in any case… I'm sorry I can't tell you everything," she said honestly. "There's just some things I _can't_…"

And, to her surprise, Harry looked at her with understanding. "I know," he said.

She felt a sniffle escape her. "How can you know?" she asked him. "You're supposed to be mad at me."

He grinned and leaned back. "That's Ron's job, I should think. Especially since your cat is trying to get up to the dormitory again as we speak."

Hermione hissed in annoyance and leapt up from her seat, rushing to grab Crookshanks. The cat was trying to sneak into the door, and it was _slippery_. "Crookshanks," she told it angrily, "would you _stop_ that?"

It turned to look her straight in the eyes, though, and she could swear-

It knew.

Her grip loosened, just a little, but it didn't go anywhere. Instead, it flicked its tail, annoyed, as though to say, _Well **what**, then?_

"Hermione?" Harry asked. "You got him?"

She picked her cat up and hugged him to her chest. "Yes, Harry. I've got him. I think I'm going to take him out for a walk, though, he seems restless…" _He just finished telling me he understands and I lie to him. Wonderful._

Harry nodded and rose himself. "I'll come with you. It's better than waiting around for breakfast for a few hours…"

Hermione bit her lip. Well… "Actually," she told him. "If you wanted, we might be able to get you some food right now."

He looked at her questioningly. "They don't open the kitchens until eight, though," he pointed out.

"Well… yes," she said carefully. "But I sort of found a way in…" _Better to tell him. He deserves something nice to happen to him every once in a while._

Crookshanks followed them out, as they made their way to the painting of fruit, talking animatedly about the match, what was going to happen, Harry's chances of beating Diggory…

All in all, a nice, quiet morning. A much needed taste of normalcy.


	7. Whispers

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 6 - Whispers**

"I know that you believe that you understood what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant."  
**-Robert McCloskey**

The game was very uncomfortable. Rain pelted the poor players, wind tossed their broomsticks around like twigs, and the occasional lightning strike made her very nervous indeed about their chances of survival. Harry in particular looked like he was having trouble – she could only tell it was him, of course, by his unique broom. She'd imagine with his glasses like that…

Glasses! Of course!

Hermione pushed her way through the wet crowd, pulling her cloak over her head (for all the good it did). "Harry!" she yelled, just as the team came down for their first time out. "Harry, stay still a moment!" He turned to look at her, confused, but she beamed and tapped his glasses with her wand (making him nearly cross his eyes trying to see what she was doing). _"Impervious!"_ she said triumphantly. "They should repel water now, it'll be easier-"

"Brilliant!" Wood told her, looking ecstatic. "This'll improve our chances of getting out of here before dark!"

_Dark being relative,_ Hermione thought wryly as they mounted their brooms again and took off into the wild storm. Harry was already looking much better, though, she noted, and it sent a proud shiver through her. Then… his hands slipped from his broom, and her brow knit. What was he doing, staring off into the distance like that-

"Look!"

"What's that, what's going on?"

"What is it?"

"_Dementors!_"

Hermione gasped, tearing her eyes from Harry for the moment to look at the field. At first she didn't see them – they seemed to blend in with the darkness, barely separate entities…

But then, she began to make out figures, gliding in deathly silence along the field. All noise from the stands had stopped – the players, all but one, were staring at them in fear. A soft roll of thunder barely broke the silence, murmuring in the darkness.

And then-

Harry was falling off his broom.

"No!" she yelled, but the cold had started to overcome her, and she couldn't _breathe_-

_"HARRY! No! Get up, Harry, GET UP!"_

_He wasn't responding, and some part of her knew he never would. But she had broken away from Lupin's grip and was rushing toward him desperately, shaking him, screaming for him to wake up._

_There was a hairline crack running down the lens of his glasses. His eyes were closed, mercifully… but a tiny trickle of blood had started running from his forehead, from the scar…_

_A shadow fell over her and she stared up into the clear, red eyes of the man they'd all worked so hard to keep away from him, the one that had started everything-_

_He was looking down at her, laughing in a cold, high pitched tone, bringing his wand to bear on her-_

_"Expelliarmus!"___

_And Lupin was grabbing her, pulling her away desperately, murmuring for her to stay together, just stay together for a few more minutes, while they ran-_

"Hermione!" Ron was shaking her roughly, trying to get her to move. She felt something inside her crack as she opened her eyes and she saw- saw Harry, lying on the field, still as death-

"No!" she yelled, struggling to rise, to get to him. Ron didn't manage to hold her back like Lupin had – when had he? – and she made it closer to him, trying desperately to ignore the encroaching cold that engulfed her as she got closer to the hooded figures.

_"Why didn't you protect him? Why weren't you there?"_

_"I couldn't have been there. I am… more sorry than you can know. This is partially my fault, Miss Granger."_

"Shut up," she gritted between her teeth, but she knew tears were sliding down her face as she pushed the memories back.

Hermione fell to her knees in front of Harry, her hand moving to his neck, hoping to god- yes. Yes, there was a pulse.

"_Ennervate_," she whispered, touching her wand to his forehead. Harry groaned, trying to get up, but she held him down. "Don't," she warned him. "Not until you're sure nothing's broken."

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "Hermione?"

The cold was getting closer.

_Whispering.__ Whispering in her ear._

_"It's a good thing you don't follow rules well, Miss Granger, isn't it?"_

_A wink.__ He was pressing something into her hand._

_And-_

_The sickly green light.___

"You're doing it too," Harry whispered.

She choked.

"What?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes with a desperate face. "You can hear them! The voices!"

_"Sometimes," she heard herself whisper, and she knew she was staring into dead eyes, "Sometimes, I really hate you. You know that, don't you?"_

She staggered, as though she'd just been hit. "Yes," she told him in a hoarse voice.

One of the dementors was moving toward them, breaking away from the others – its cowled figure seemed drawn to them, pulled by something she couldn't name.

_"There are some things worth dying for, Miss Granger."_

_"I know."_

It reached down with a hand, toward her- she gasped as her mind fluttered, like a trapped insect in a shrinking box…

A pure white light blinded her, then, and she wondered if she'd lost her soul.

But no – Harry was still grasping her hand in fear, staring at the Dementor –

Which was no longer there.

Dumbledore stood in front of them, a cold light burning in his eyes. "Miss Granger, would you and Mr. Potter please go up to the hospital wing?"

She didn't argue. Not a bit.

But as they leant on each other, stumbling off the field, Harry cast a haggard look at her that promised he would be asking about this later.

-----

"Chocolate, now, open up! Goodness, you two look like you've been sucked dry by a vampire-"

Hermione sighed and let her head fall with a _thud!_ into Harry's shoulder.

She felt her chin being lifted up, and Madam Pomfrey stuffed a large chunk of chocolate into her mouth. Hermione chewed with difficulty and swallowed before being hustled into bed.

They had visitors, of course, and the awful truth of Harry's broomstick came to light – it had been blown into the Whomping Willow and smashed to bits. Not only this, but Cedric Diggory, the other team's seeker, had caught the snitch before realizing the game had been interrupted.

"Harry," she said quietly, after the lights had gone out that night, "I don't really understand what happened out there. I've never been affected by them like that before."

He looked at her from the next bed over, his glasses glinting in the faint starlight that shone through the windows. "Maybe it was because there were more of them…" He hesitated. "What did you hear, Hermione?"

She swallowed, and felt an awful dread seize her. What was she supposed to tell him? She'd seen him _die_.

"If- if you don't want to say, that's fine too," he told her anxiously.

A thought hit her. _He knows some secrets can't be told._

Hermione bit her lip to stifle the tiny sob of relief that had been threatening to come out.

Harry stiffened in his bed, and she quickly swallowed it. "Thank you," she told him. "_Thank you._"

He shifted uncomfortably, and she cursed herself. "It's just – you can't know how much that means. If I could, I swear, I would, but-"

"I know," he said again, the second time that day. "I know, Hermione. And-" Harry hesitated. "There's some things I haven't told you either, to be fair."

Somehow, inexplicably, this made her warm inside. Friends were supposed to _share_ secrets, not mutually keep them, but-

It was amazing, having someone that understood her enough to hold a friendship under that kind of pressure.

"Oh, I suppose everything will come out at the end of the year like it always does," she muttered good-naturedly. "But you _will_ trust me if… if things come to the worst, won't you?"

Harry sighed. "Of course I will, Hermione."

The thought of Harry's betrayed face if he ever found out… Hermione found herself suddenly fervently hoping he was telling the truth.

-----

_Creak of a door…_

_Padding footsteps.___

_Someone by her ear, whispering…_

_"You're alive… thank god… I couldn't do anything, the dementors-" The voice broke off with a shudder. A hand on her forehead, brushing back her hair. "Thank **god**."_

_Hermione muttered something tiredly, and reached out- someone caught her hand, sighing. "You two scared me silly…"_

She woke up with a yawn, trying to think-

Then bolted upright immediately. Had Sirius- no! He wouldn't have done something so stupid… would he?

Hermione rushed from the room, panicked, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's reproving glare and her tuts about how she wanted to keep her longer ("I'm feeling loads better, I swear!").

She managed to get to the wall, slid herself in-

He was sitting in the chair, white and shaking, head in his hands. Hermione swallowed hard and hurried over to him.

"Sirius?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

He looked up at her with surprise and relief written on his face, but she could see that his eyes were the same as when she'd first met him. "Yes. Yes, I'm – I'll _be_ fine," he told her. "What about you? What _happened_ out there?"

"I-" she started to respond – then gasped. "You were _there!"_

"Yes, of course I was," he told her. "You didn't think I'd miss seeing Harry fly, did you?"

Hermione felt the blood rush out of her face- "What if you were _seen?_" she whispered. "You would've died- no, you would've lost your soul!" She sat down heavily. "Do you have- have _any_ idea-"

"I went as a dog," he told her with a sharp laugh. "You didn't think I'd just walk out there as is?"

She froze – then shook her head. "It was still really dangerous," she told him. "If Professor Lupin had seen you…"

"Then I wouldn't be here now," he shrugged, still white-faced.

It occurred to her then that by being at the stadium he'd also been subject to the dementors. That for _him_ it would be much worse…

Hermione frowned and reached into her pocket, fishing out the half a chocolate bar Madam Pomfrey had given her. "Here, eat this," she told him.

He blinked, but took it from her hand. "Chocolate?" he asked.

"Yes, chocolate," she told him. "It helps."

Sirius took a bite – his pallor didn't disappear, but his skin tone did become decidedly better. He shuddered a bit, and she tried to think of a nice, cheerful thing to do to give him back his good memories.

"Harry's very good, isn't he?" Hermione said on inspiration.

The other man smiled, and she could immediately see the difference. "Yes, he is. He could've given James a run for his money, for all that he's a Seeker…" Sirius' face turned dark, though, and she inwardly sighed. His happiest memories were inexorably tied to his worst ones. She couldn't imagine living like that…

"I never would have- not that," he whispered. "They're mad to think I would. I loved him like a brother."

Hermione watched as his eyes stared into something that she couldn't see. Perhaps a shade, perhaps a memory of someone he'd once known…

"I know you wouldn't have," she said quietly. And, strangely, she did. Beyond all doubt. Sirius Black had been ready to commit murder when he went after Peter Pettigrew, but he was not capable of the treacherous act it would have taken to doom Lily and James Potter.

She realized a moment later that he was looking at her strangely. "You do?" he asked.

Hermione shifted uneasily. "Yes," she said.

She had to trust herself, at the very least – otherwise, who _could_ she trust? Not to mention the intellectual embarrassment of being given the chance to change something and not doing it.

There was the cusp of it. _Could_ she change anything? All wizards who tried were supposed to have died horrible deaths or some such thing. But _she_ wasn't trying to change anything, per se, it was – well, her – but her future self- and no one ever said if those wizards _had_ managed to change anything before they died, and even if they had, who would know? If her future self was willing to risk it, and if she decided to trust herself (damn it, foregone point!) then she _had_ to change something.

Hermione sighed.

Her head hurt.

"You look like you're doing some hard thinking," Sirius told her, sounding slightly amused.

She shot him a dirty look. "Arithmancy," she said shortly. He seemed to take this as a likely explanation.

"Never took it," he told her. "But your homework _was_ bloody difficult."

Hermione blinked. "How did you do it if you've never taken Arithmancy?" she demanded. "You didn't _guess?_ Oh lord, I've tried telling Harry and Ron, Arithmancy is so much more precise than Divination, you _can't_ just make things up-"

"I read through your textbook," he said offhandedly. "It _is_ the beginning text, you know."

Hermione groaned. Arithmancy had given even her a bit of trouble early on. It was not likely that she'd be getting a good grade on that paper… oh well. It was the price paid for having help, and she quite clearly remembered the light-headed giddiness that had accompanied her first afternoon with no homework.

"Thanks anyway," she managed. "That was very thoughtful of you, learning a whole new subject."

Sirius chuckled. "I haven't been able to intellectually pursue _anything_ for the past twelve years. It was oddly refreshing, considering I've always hated math."

Rrk. Yet another blow to her confidence in her upcoming grade. Think happy thoughts, Hermione.

She sighed again. "I think I'd better get started on my Dark Arts homework. Working on Hinkypunks now…"

"Ah," he said, "Nasty things, those."

"You don't know the half of it," she muttered, pulling out her book. "Professor Lupin's actually brought one in – we're going to have a practical on it."

Sirius looked faintly surprised by this news, but smirked all the same. "Just one rule, then, really – don't follow the light."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned the page.


	8. O' is for Outstanding

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 7 – 'O' is for Outstanding**

"To be mature means to face, and not evade, every fresh crisis that comes."

**-Fritz Kunkel**

The first class of the week in which Hermione was expecting trouble was precisely the one she got it in.

She entered Arithmancy with trepidation after having used her timeturner, praying that the teacher might have chalked her paper up to a bad day or (and this was actually very close to the truth) perhaps to stress.

Hermione watched with a sick feeling in her stomach as Professor Vector began to hand out homework (as was the ritual for the beginning of class). It seemed to her that everyone else was getting theirs first this time, though this was most likely more from nerves than anything else.

However, when Professor Vector had finished handing them out, Hermione realized that this was not the case. Her paper had not been last at all – it hadn't been handed back!

The frantic fluttering in her stomach increased, and she felt herself growing faint. What if she'd discovered the charm, what if she'd talked to McGonnagal – cheating was very sternly punished, she could be expelled-

"Miss Granger, I'll be wanting to see you after class," Professor Vector told her as she passed, brushing a few raven strands of hair back from her face.

Hermione didn't have a chance to scream her repentance before the woman was at the front of the room, and class had begun.

The lesson was unbearably slow. This was surprising – Arithmancy was usually her favorite class, apart from Defense Against the Dark Arts. But as she looked at the hourglasses on the wall, a shudder went through her – only five minutes had passed. Her stomach churned nervously.

"-I hope you were all paying attention, because this equation is most likely going to be on your final."

Hermione resisted the urge to faint.

_Pay attention. I have to pay attention. Take notes-_

She fumbled with a piece of parchment in her book bag, nearly tearing it as she pulled it out. Her quill shook slightly at first, but Hermione soon put her unswerving attention solely on the teacher, relaxing as she did what she did best (other than reading, of course).

It was, therefore, a great surprise when the bell rang. Hermione rose to leave before realizing, at the door, that Professor Vector had wanted to talk to her. Her enforced calm disintegrated as she approached the desk with a quavering lip.

"Ah, Hermione," Professor Vector said without looking up. "I wanted to talk to you about your homework."

If Vector had looked up, at that moment, she would have seen Hermione's face go chalk white.

"Y-yes?" Hermione managed.

"Well, as I was checking it, I noticed something rather strange-" Hermione was beginning to see black spots at the corners of her eyes as she lost the ability to breathe. "-have you been reading ahead in the book?"

She blinked. "I- what?"

Professor Vector finally looked up from her work, smiling. "You're using more advanced equations than I would expect at this level. You even took the longer way around problem number four, right here." Her professor pointed at the sheet in front of her, which Hermione belatedly realized was her homework. Yes- yes that equation _was_ a bit unnecessary, why had he done that? Although, now that she looked at it, the second variable was rather shaky, and if you used this equation, you could discount it altogether…

"I wanted to ask if you're being sufficiently challenged in this class," Professor Vector continued. "The option of moving up to second year Arithmancy is available to you, should I recommend you for it, since I am the one in charge of the class. And I _do_ recommend you for it," her teacher added, still smiling.

Oh my.

"I- well, that is-" _What do I **say?** I understand the equations, certainly, but I didn't do them and – well, I rather have enough going on…_ "I really would like to," she said carefully, "but I'm a bit… overworked, lately, I suppose. And I'd really like to get the basics down before going on to harder things."

Professor Vector nodded to herself. "I can understand that. However, should you change your mind, the offer is always open. And if you choose not to move up this year, it is possible that you could do a short self-study program over the summer and move up next year instead." Hermione's heart leapt at the prospect. She always finished all her summer homework early anyway, and studying advanced Arithmancy would be a wonderful use for the rest of the break.

_"You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met, Hermione."___

Hermione forced a smile, ignoring the voice – Remus Lupin's voice, strained by some unknown emotion. "I'd like that," she said, perhaps a bit over-enthusiastically. "That sounds very good, I think I'll look into it at the end of the year, if you don't mind."

Vector seemed pleased. "I'm glad to hear it." She glanced at the hourglass in surprise as the late bell rang. "Oh, I suppose I shall have to give you a pass… what's your next class?"

"Transfiguration," Hermione replied automatically, thinking of the paper on Animagus theory she'd yet to get back. __

"Oh good," Vector said, signing a bit of spare parchment. "If it had been Potions, I might have had to come along with you. More than one of my students has had their pass discounted in that class…" The teacher's face turned mildly cloudy, but Hermione could tell she was trying hard not to show her irritation.

She tried very hard not to smile at the idea of Snape's face at the missed chance of giving her a detention.

Hermione took the offered slip and smiled at her teacher before leaving the classroom and moving very happily toward Transfiguration. She didn't even have to use the timeturner – for which she was very grateful. The thing gave her jitters just thinking about it these days.

As it happened, however, Transfiguration was her next troublesome subject.

Hermione came through the door quietly, waving the pass at McGonnagal so as not to disturb her teaching. McGonnagal was very trusting of her, and with good reason, and she almost never asked to actually look at her passes.

This time, however, she surprised Hermione by setting the class a practical task and moving to intercept her.

"Miss Granger?" she asked mildly. "May I have a word with you in the hall?"

A suspicious feeling wormed its way into her stomach, but it wasn't enough to displace the giddy joy that had bloomed there since her talk with Vector only a few minutes prior.

The two moved into the hall, and McGonnagal shut the door behind her. She was holding Hermione's homework in her hand.

Hermione felt like groaning, but she was much too intelligent to do so now.

"I wanted to ask," the teacher said cautiously, "How precisely you attained such in depth knowledge of the Animagus transformation. The assignment was only to go into the general theory."

Hermione tried not to look too surprised. Oh, right – Sirius was an Animagus. Tended to make the whole job a bit easier.

"I was just very interested in the subject," she said brightly. "And I was thinking – thinking about attempting to become one, once I get out of school."

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say.

"I do not want you experimenting with any such thing while you are here," McGonnagal told her, tight-lipped. "I would expect much better from you, Miss Granger."

Hermione blinked. "Of course not. That's – that's _dangerous!_ I could get myself killed!"

This seemed to slightly assuage her teacher. "Oh. Well, I apologize then. I would like to know, however, how you found this particular bit of information…"

She pointed to a rather long paragraph in Hermione's handwriting, which detailed the needed potions to ease the process. Hermione thought furiously. _Obviously, not public knowledge- where could I reasonably get it-_

"Oh!"

She quickly covered her surprise at having found the perfect cover story. "I- I'm sorry. I asked you for a note to get into the restricted section, a few weeks ago – the advanced animal to animal theory – and I happened to find some mentions of it in one of the books…" Hermione tried to look shamefaced. "I'm afraid I looked up a bit more on it, which was rather wrong of me. I should have stuck only to the specific subject."

McGonnagal was _very _relieved at this. "Good, good, then, Miss Granger. I'm afraid I've undermined your integrity as a student… I apologize, again. And," she gave her a particularly proud look, "should you attempt to become an Animagus after you graduate, I sincerely hope you will seek me out as your official mentor. If any one of my students could accomplish it, I'm sure it's you."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up.

"Oh yes," McGonnagal said, almost offhandedly, "twenty points to Gryffindor for an excellently researched paper. I see no reason for you to stay away from innocent subjects that catch your interest, as long as you do not attempt anything dangerous with your discoveries."

She felt her blush deepen even further, her heart swelling with pride. She would, of course, have to read through the paper and make sure she understood it. An Animagus, what an intriguing concept…

"Th-thank you, Professor," she managed.

McGonnagal opened the door again – and sighed.

"Longbottom, bring your toad to me – I shall have to reverse the swelling myself."

-----

"An _O?_" Sirius said, shocked. "Who'd have thought!"

Hermione, having used the timeturner once before slipping inside, tried not to laugh. "And being an Animagus had absolutely nothing to do with that paper, hmm?" she said.

He shrugged, not very convincingly. "I might have remembered a thing or two, I don't know…"

"Still earning points for your house, even years after you've left it," she said, her laugh escaping her while she wasn't watching.

"Gotten any dirty looks from Slytherin yet?" he asked with a grin.

Hermione gave him a blank look. "Every day. Twenty points will hardly make a difference when they all hate me utterly anyway."

"Why is that?" Sirius asked, intrigued.

"What, you mean other than the fact I'm muggleborn?" she asked, surprised.

He blinked.

"You – you _are?_"

Hermione frowned at him. "Why the surprise?" she asked acidly, suddenly feeling a slight clench in her chest. "Expected me to be the school idiot?"

Sirius hurriedly waved his hands in denial. "No, no, I- I didn't mean it like that. I just – you never said anything about it. There's very few true muggleborns at Hogwarts."

She closed her mouth abruptly, her cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. _Wonderful.__ Only partway into the year and I'm already getting defensive. Must be the stress._

"Sorry," she muttered. "It's just the standard reaction so far."

"From who?" he demanded. "You're bloody brilliant!"

Hermione swallowed and forced down her blush, feeling slightly uncomfortable. She'd gotten too many compliments that day, most of them unfounded. "Well, from the Slytherins, like you said. It's not like I don't expect it, anyway."

She frowned and tried to think of another subject to switch the conversation to. "What about you?" she asked. "I highly doubt you're muggleborn."

And Sirius Black's face tightened in a way she'd seen it do when he thought of Azkaban. Hermione winced. "Haven't you heard of the pureblood houses?" he asked unhappily. "Malfoy, Mulciber, Lestrange-"

"Black was one, yes!" she finished, surprised. "I- well! I suppose I just never made the connection. What was it like, growing up knowing about magic? Did you get to study before coming to school at all? Did you always know what you wanted to do, after graduation-" She hurriedly shut her mouth, realizing she'd gone off on one of her mad questioning sprees again. It was a habit she'd acquired a long time ago and only recently managed to suppress – it still came out in interesting situations, though.

He grimaced, and Hermione inwardly cursed herself. _Probably thinks I'm a juvenile little child. _Despite all of her hard work, many older people still talked down to her. The only way to avoid this was to prove herself beyond doubt – she was always slightly upset with herself whenever she showed a childish tendency, sometimes undoing any and all chance for genuine respect.

"Sorry," he muttered, "Just a reflex. The less you know about the Blacks, the better, believe me. I was disowned, anyway."

Hermione dearly wanted to know more, but she knew when to shut up. At least he hadn't been unhappy with her for asking too many questions, like she'd thought before.

Surprisingly, though, he continued. "It was slightly vexing, watching older people do magic all the time, knowing you weren't allowed to unless they were in the room, supervising. They allow younger children to get permits, in case you didn't know, but the only magic anyone in my family was interested in teaching me was rather… unpleasant." His lips tightened to a line. "I wanted to be an Auror, but I never said anything about it after the first time. I decided when I was sixteen that I'd be the one to bring in my brother to Azkaban."

Hermione felt her mouth drop in disbelief. "You – your own family?" she said incredulously.

He blinked, as though just realizing she were there. "You didn't grow up with them, of course," he told her. "You wouldn't understand. I saw more disgusting things in my time at that house than anyone should ever even read about in one lifetime. It's probably still chock full of dark magic to this day, though I don't think any of the family's still alive."

This was a bit much for Hermione, who was used to thinking of family along with the dull ache that came with wanting to go home, every once in a while. Remembering her parents' faces happily, thinking of Christmases together and summers spent trying to fix her house in her memory so that she wouldn't forget it while she was gone… "Surely they loved you at some point?" she asked almost desperately.

Sirius' lip twitched. "I'm sure I shouldn't be talking about this with you, come to think of it. You should be working on… Muggle Studies, was it, today?"

Hermione frowned. "No homework this time. Or well, there is, but it's just thinking up an appliance to study for a project."

He leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "Arithmancy, then?"

"Done," she replied curtly. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, you're free to say so, but condescending to me-"

"They did, once," he interrupted softly. "A long, long time ago."

And his face took on such a pained, wistful expression that she forgot her irritation and immediately felt bad for asking.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I- I'll work on Potions then, shall I?"

"Isn't your first one of the week tomorrow?" he asked absently, still staring out into nothing.

She frowned. "I'll work ahead. Can't ever work ahead too much when you've got a schedule this packed."

Sirius shrugged, looking pensive, and went to light a small fire in the fireplace. Hermione sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of her three hours of sleep the night before. She was beginning to wonder what school would have been like without the added responsibility of a convict to hide – then she realized that it might have been even worse. There just wasn't any telling with mucking up time.

_Maybe,_ the thought struck her. _Maybe I never went through school without doing this at all… maybe I only told myself because I knew it was going to happen…_

Hermione bit her lip unhappily. All theories she'd ever read on time travel said that time could not be changed. That all changes merged into the timeline anyway, because of the path of least resistance law…

She didn't realize she was drifting until the dancing flames in the fireplace blurred, sliding together to form one coherent light source, reflecting through glass-

_Thompkins__._

_She held her lantern up to the book quietly, trying to pretend like she wasn't out of bed and that she wasn't in the restricted section and that it wouldn't get her into much worse trouble than it ever might have before._

_But this was too important – it was her last hint, and it was too important to be ignored. They could expel her, after this. If it was true, it wouldn't matter…_

Hermione gasped, eyes opening wide.

The fireplace burned merrily across from the table where her head had lay.

"You ought to get some more sleep," Sirius observed quietly, sitting next to it and not looking back at her. "Otherwise, you might not get back to your commonroom one of these times."

She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, and she moved her hand up to clutch gently at it, trying to still it.

Those things were going to get her in trouble. She knew it.

_Thompkins__._

"You're right," she murmured as she kept her head down, gathering her things. "Sorry."

He didn't say a word as she slipped out, moving toward her commonroom. But Sirius Black was an intelligent person, as she knew very well by now. He would figure it out, one of these times. A chill ran down her spine, and she pushed it away as she realized the timeturner had fallen from her robes, fumbling to put it away again.

She trusted him, yes. Trusted him that he wasn't a murderer, that he had both their best interests in mind and Harry's as well. Trusted him that Scabbers was a wizard named Peter Pettigrew, even.

She did _not_ trust his judgment.

Sirius Black was not going to find out that she had a timeturner in her possession. He was not going to find out that she'd been having insane visions related to a dark and dismal something that she'd begun to suspect was their future.


	9. Secrets

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

Nyeh. You're cruel, dangling fanart. It's my biggest tragic weakness, besides chocolate. Take your chapter, woman.

**Chapter 8 – Secrets**

"Reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy? And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend."  
**-Saadi ******

__

_"Sirius? Are you there?" Tentative. Had he lost his sanity again? It took so much just to coax him back for a few minutes, she didn't think she could hold on that long-_

_"I didn't betray them." His voice, hoarse and defiant._

_"I know," she whispered. "I know you didn't."_

_"No you don't. You know nothing. You **are** nothing. You're a dream within a nightmare and you'll disappear just like them." He glared at the wall in front of him as though he were simply talking to himself._

_"I'm not a dream, for all that I might as well be one," she sighed. "You're right about one thing, though… I will disappear."_

Hermione groaned and sat up in bed, sighing as she saw the sun was not yet up. Not only was she not getting to sleep on time now, she couldn't even stay asleep long enough for it to matter. Perhaps – perhaps she ought to get some dreamless sleep potions…

No. That would be admitting to too many things. At the least that she wasn't able to take the stress. And that was not acceptable.

The girl pushed herself bodily out of bed, moaning quietly at the pounding headache that seemed now to have taken up permanent residence inside her head. The timeturner around her neck slapped against her chest, inside her flannel pajamas, and she resisted the urge to glare at it.

_This is all its fault._

It was, of course, stupid to place the blame for this situation onto an inanimate object. But she would sure as hell try.

Hermione gathered her robes, ignoring the shifting of her roommates (still happily sleeping – she envied them and sometimes hated them for it) and slipped out of the dormitory, out of the portrait, down the hall. She wasn't entirely sure what time it was – time was so relative nowadays, it was stupid even to try to set a certain number to an hour – but it didn't matter. The teachers patrolled, near dawn. Hermione clicked the timeturner gently, used to using it by now. She only fell out of step with the world for a single moment, before the dizziness ended.

She had to see him, had to make certain, for no reason at all. Had to make sure he was the same person she'd glimpsed, just for a moment.

Two hallways. One. And if a teacher were out for an early morning stroll? Then what would she say? _Sorry, one too many turns on the timeturner – you know how it goes._

A noise from her left made her jump. Hermione stifled her shriek against her hand and realized with relief that it was only one of the portraits, stirring.

The room was ahead. Wand out, tap, whisper the word-

Hermione slipped inside quietly, stowing her wand. The room was dark, it looked like. She was half expecting him to be awake.

The fire was glowing dimly. A figure was splayed in front of it, soaking up the remaining heat. At first, she thought he might've said her name in greeting, but then she realized he was just mumbling nonsense in his dreams.

Feeling strangely as though she'd just invaded some kind of private inner sanctum, Hermione moved closer, compelled.

The lines of his face had softened, just a little – he almost looked peaceful. Clean-shaven, hair cropped to an unruly but still handsome mess. He was keeping up his appearance, then. She almost laughed aloud at the thought – if anyone other than she ever saw him, his appearance would be the last of his worries.

"James- didn't- I didn't know-" his voice croaked.

Tortured murmurs of a tortured man. Even in sleep, perhaps especially in sleep, he couldn't forget. His face had twisted painfully now, his breathing sped to a frantic rhythm.

Her hand moved before she could will it to, landing on his shoulder and squeezing gently. A fevered warmth washed over her skin – the words stopped, and slowly, his breathing slowed to a more regular rate. She found herself staring down at him, though, with something other than pity. Something was _stirring_…

_Lush green grass outside – residue of a spring rain, with more yet to come as the sky rumbled quietly. The smell of wet leaves… cool, cold glass, pressed against her hand, as she stared outside unhappily._

_"I'm going to have to go home soon, aren't I, James?" That wasn't her. Hermione turned around to look at a very young boy, not more than eleven, surely. Soft black hair was falling over his face as he stared out the window, much like she was._

_"Afraid so, Sirius, my friend. That doesn't mean we can't make the most of our last few days, though, does it?"_

_That voice was one she knew. Harry – but a quiet, subdued Harry, one that was trying unsuccessfully to cheer someone up. Hermione stared at him in fascination for a moment – how could Harry be here? – before realizing it had to be James. A shudder went through her. James Potter, eleven years old. But he was dead, had been dead since Harry was young._

_"It's so easy to say, isn't it?" Sirius was saying bitterly, "Back on the train, pack your trunks – bam, you're there. I bet loads of kids never think about it. I bet they're not wondering if they'll get killed for being put in the wrong  
house-"_

_"You're exaggerating now. They're your family, they won't kill you."_

_A quirk of the mouth, and Hermione found herself staring at Sirius with a pang going through her. "You don't know my family." He was gone, he was gone, he was gone, but he was younger than she was, just now, if she could only scream at him what was going to happen-_

_"You can come visit me if it's really all that bad, you know," James said gently. " I'm sure mum and dad wouldn't mind."_

_Sirius frowned. "Oh yeah, I'm sure my mum would jump at that. 'Go live with the mudblood lovers for a while, sweetie. Just don't start picking up their dirty habits or I'll have to take away your allowance.' Nah, you don't know what you're talking about, James."_

_The boy behind him put a hand on his shoulder. "You know if I could I'd help more," he offered quietly._

_"Yeah…" Sirius was sullenly silent for a moment. Then- _

_"Hey, you know what?" James said brightly. "How about you come live with me, once you're sixteen? They can't hold you back at that age – we'll stay up late all night and watch all the muggle movies you want and then we'll go to a muggle quidditch game, just to spite 'em."_

_Sirius' face brightened incredibly quickly, making her ache for him. "You- you really mean it?"_

_"Yeah. You're practically family anyway, you know."_

_A pause._

_"Do they really have muggle Quidditch?" Sirius asked doubtfully._

_James scratched his head. "Um… not sure, come to think of it. They must use some kind of broom substitute."_

_A quiet laugh at the strange things muggles had to come up with, just to have sports. Then, smiling: "It's a deal, mate."_

_"I don't want to see this," she whispered, talking to no one, knowing they couldn't hear her._

_She knew, even as he embraced his eleven year old friend warmly for a childhood promise, that he was going to be betrayed and imprisoned and-_

Hermione took a sudden, shaking breath, and realized she hadn't been breathing, before. She pressed a hand to her chest shakily – then found that her other hand had moved to his forehead, brushing the hair from his eyes.

He'd calmed now, completely. And she was still intruding.

Hermione swallowed, stumbling to her feet. That vision – it had been clearer than the rest, so much clearer. As though it had been a real memory – or a memory within a memory – or whatever it was.

Why on earth would she have seen that kind of thing?

She shook as she made her way uncertainly outside, watching as the sun came up and as the call to breakfast was sounded. She didn't go to eat, but returned to the Gryffindor commonroom, pressing her hand against a certain window and wondering how the landscape had changed so much in so little time while the commonroom remained almost exactly the same.

-----

Potions was after – well, actually at the same time as – Muggle Studies.

She _hated_ Potions.

Not because of lack of content (never!) but, as usual, because of the teacher.

"Partners! I want all Gryffindors paired with a Hufflepuff – no same house pairings. That includes you, Mr. Longbottom…"

Snape.

Hermione moved over to Justin Finch-Fletchley's cauldron with a sigh, knowing she'd probably end up doing most of the work herself. The Hufflepuff had reached a kind of truce with her, as they had both been victims of the Basilisk's curse – and perhaps most especially because she'd been the one to solve the puzzle and, in the end, save the school from it. All while petrified in a hospital wing. Her mouth curved upward into a wry smile as she measured out a sizable amount of their blackspice for the lesser Pepper-Up Potion.

"Oh good, you've gotten that done already," he said brightly, having just begun to count it out on his own. "What about the congruent-"

"Coagulant, Justin," she told him, "You're mixing it up with Arithmancy again."

The boy smiled and shrugged. "I suppose so. But do I need to get that out – oh, I see you've already stirred it in. Wonderful!"

Hermione sighed and put her head into her arms, waiting for the potion to come together. Luckily, this one didn't have an exact brewing time – it could be taken off the fire at any point after it had thickened to a decent viscosity.

_"Were you ever in love, Hermione?"_

_A snort. "That's a rather odd question, don't you think?"_

_"Not at all! I should think it's very important. You're as much a girl as I am, even if you don't want to admit it."_

_"Well…" Hesitation._

_"Yes?"_

_"Maybe – and I'm not really sure on this one, mind you – **maybe** Ron. Fourth year, mostly."_

_"Ron?"_

_"Oh, I knew it was stupid to tell you."_

_"Oh no, Hermione, I'm sorry, I really am – I just remember the way he always used to get jealous… does this mean there's someone else now?"_

_A pause._

_"I- I don't know." She was fiddling with something uneasily, it felt like – maybe her hair or a pen… "Can you be in love with a memory?" she whispered._

_"Yes," her friend said, in a pained voice. "If a memory could almost kill me, you can be in love with one."_

Boom.

Hermione jerked awake with a gasp, looking toward the corner of the room.

Neville looked gloomily at the smoking cauldron. His potion had sublimated from its solid form instead of congealing.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor and ten points from Hufflepuff," Snape said almost casually. "Detention at seven, Longbottom."

What was he-

Snape was reading something intently. His eyes were fixed on it in the way a hawk might sight a mouse. She found herself morbidly curious.

Hermione bottled her sample of the potion, casting a withering glance at Justin, who was replying to a note the girl behind him had written, and set it on Snape's desk, casting her eyes over it casually.

What she saw made her freeze.

**_Have You Seen This Wizard?_**

A madly laughing Sirius Black. Unkempt, shaking – but only she could see the despair, only she could see the insane disbelief…

"Frightened, Miss Granger?" Snape said suddenly, black eyes glittering as he looked at her. "A murderer on the loose, near Hogwarts somewhere. They haven't found him yet…"

She swallowed, taking a step back. "Yes, w-well-" Hermione straightened. "He has no reason to come after me, now does he?"

Snape smiled coldly. "Of course not, Miss Granger. Now, I would advise that you get going – you'll be late to your next class."

_Late? But I can't be late, I've got Arithmancy same time, and the Timeturner goes farther back than I need-_

He was watching her suspiciously as she stalled. Hermione decided then that anywhere was better than being glared at by Professor Snape.

Once outside, though, she had to wonder…

Why did Snape not know about her Timeturner?

Well, who _did_ know?

McGonnagal, certainly, and Dumbledore as well. Lupin knew too, apparently. But no one else had said a word.

_"I am trusting this to your confidence, Miss Granger. I hope I do not need to impress upon you the great need for secrecy…"_

Secrecy, even from the teachers?

Strange.

But she certainly wasn't going to argue, if it meant she could finish this dratted year.


	10. Time is Not a Banana

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

**Chapter 9 – Time is Not a Banana**

"Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana."  
**-Lisa Grossman**

The day felt longer than usual – which was saying quite a bit. Hermione got to the commonroom and set her bag down, ready to start her homework-

Then decided she really needed some sleep instead. It couldn't hurt to take a half hour nap, could it? And besides… she was so _tired…_

That decided, she picked back up her bag and walked up to the dormitory, ignoring the giggles and hushed voices that were left behind. She'd known this year wouldn't be a walk in the park, after all.

The problem, as she later saw, was not that she took a nap. It was that she slept the night through.

Hermione opened her eyes tiredly, feeling very much refreshed. It was only a moment later she realized it was dark out.

_Oh no,_ she thought in a panic, _I must have missed dinner-_

The clock beside her bed said three am.

Oh my.

She felt frustrated tears prick at her eyes, but pushed them away and pulled out her book bag. She'd have to get her homework done in record time, but she could do it – she _could_ do it. She had to believe that.

At the point where she realized she had no clue what the properties of the sizzlethroat plant were, it was already four.

Hermione bit her lip. She had to get this done tonight, otherwise she would have just waited until some spare time in between classes (usually lunch). What she _really_ needed was a nice, quiet hour in the library, to get it all done.

_The library.___

_Thompkins__._

She chewed her lip for a few seconds before deciding. Hermione rose from her sitting position on the bed, still in her school robes, and slipped silently from the room, moving toward the third year boys' dormitory.

The fire in the commonroom was still crackling merrily, despite the fact that no one was there to enjoy it. It lit up the darkness uneasily, though, as though the shadows were beginning to encroach upon it. Hermione shivered and opened the door to the third year boys' dormitory, trying to ignore the sickening fugitive feeling in her stomach as she stepped carefully to Harry's bed.

"Harry," she whispered. "Harry, wake up."

He shifted, muttering something in his sleep. She frowned and poked him in the ribs.

"-mione, it's too early to get up, I want to play with the phoenix more…"

She stifled a giggle. "Harry, I wanted to borrow the invisibility cloak. Is that okay?"

His eyes were open to slits now, tired and bleary. "Sure, I guess. Want me to come with you?"

Hermione smiled. "No, I'm just getting some references. You'd be utterly bored."

Harry blinked a few times, then rubbed at his eyes. "It's in the bottom of the trunk – here, hang on, I've got the key…" He pulled something from around his neck and handed it to her. The metal of the key pressed into her hand gently, still slightly warm from being against his chest.

She opened the trunk with it, pushing aside the folded robes carefully. At the bottom, just as he'd said, was a silken, silvery material. It nearly slithered from her grasp the first time she closed her hand around it, but Hermione tightened her grip and pulled it out and over herself in one smooth motion. She closed the trunk then and put the key in her robe's front pocket, noticing as she did that Harry was already asleep again.

-----

Hermione decided, as she finished her last sentence with a tired flourish, that one could indeed have too much homework. It was already getting to be near light, and she'd only just managed to get it all done. Bed was calling temptingly, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep in time for any of it to matter.

She drummed her fingers quietly on a book, beneath the cloak, letting her mind drift for a moment. It was almost a relief – she'd been so focused on everything lately that having random thoughts seemed almost a privilege. Hermione put her chin into her hand, looking around the library curiously.

Her gaze settled on the restricted section.

"Oh bother," she muttered to herself. "Not going to leave me alone, that, is it?"

And without further ado, she let herself into the section, her eyes seeking out automatically the 'T' shelf.

Thompkins… it's got to be in here somewhere… 

It was indeed. Had a book been out of place in Madam Pince's library, even in the restricted section, Hermione would have been very surprised.

Her hand reached for it hesitatingly, not quite touching the worn leather spine, fingers stopped just short of touching it.

Did she really want to know?

_Yes of course,_ something inside her seemed to be saying testily. _Why wouldn't I? It can't be all that bad, it doesn't have the caution tag on it._

Thinking this was good logic, but also uncannily certain that she would regret giving in to herself, Hermione closed her fingers around the book and pulled it from the shelf, flipping it open in her hands.

_theory__ states that it takes less total energy for time to meld changes into itself instead of creating a whole new timeline._ The book continued from a previous page. _This holds up under all experiments implemented to prove it._

Hermione frowned. She knew that already.

However. If this were so in all cases, I should currently be dead. And, obviously, I am not.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she found herself leaning forward over the book, reading more avidly. _By the admission of myself, I did not remembering cursing my future self, and yet had gone back in time and been cursed by me. Such a strange sequence of events seems to indicate that I did not originally curse myself and yet have now done so. What is more, my future self faded away mere moments after telling me this, instead of staying and living through the time between timeturnings, as is usually done. _

_My future self was a year older than I, yet I still have not gone back in time, and it is ten years to the day since that ultimately strange event. I've been told I must be imagining things, insane, but I cannot believe it._

Hermione shut the book numbly, mind whirling. No, this couldn't possibly be- no. Because it would mean, of course, that this man had somehow changed time – truly changed it. And that was impossible.

The clock began to chime, and she realized with sudden panic that it was now of a time that Madam Pince would be getting up to come to the library. Hermione flipped through the book quickly, but found that the entry was just what she'd seen. It had been transcribed from a journal, what little could be made out of it, because it had been stained with blood…

She pushed the thought from her mind and ran for her things, picking them up, shoving them into her bag beneath her cloak, realizing that she'd most likely miss breakfast again to take Harry's invisibility cloak back to him. Not that she was incredibly hungry anyway – she seemed to have lost her appetite, a sick churning in her stomach stealing it from her.

Hermione pushed out the door breathlessly and began to run toward the dormitory. Hopefully, Harry would trust her, but what if he thought something had happened…

She blinked as she heard hurried footsteps from the other direction and looked up from her pondering – her eyes went wide as she dodged a furtive figure, bent over a sheet of parchment and running directly toward her.

One hand reached out to snag the cloak, and she found herself staring, horrified, at Sirius Black.

"You- you were under the cloak-" he managed, shocked. Then – "No matter, it's Malfoy- coming this way, he's got his father-"

Hermione furiously assimilated this information, glancing at the Marauder's Map. She realized then that the dot labeled 'Sirius Black' would most likely not have a fun meeting with Lucius Malfoy and his son.

"Under the cloak," she hissed to him. "Now. I'll take care of this."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue – the cloak was made for an adult, it wouldn't accommodate both of them in a hurry – but she didn't allow him a chance. Hermione threw the thing over him quickly, then slipped the map underneath the hem. "And stay _quiet!"_ she told him.

There was no answer.

She was satisfied.

Up until the point that a clear and slightly delighted voice called, "Ah, Miss Granger!"

A shiver went down her spine as she turned to face the owner.

The first person she saw was Draco Malfoy. He was looking at her with surprise, and… alarm? Her eyes traveled up his form, to his slightly frightened face, to his platinum blonde hair - to the man that stood behind him.

"How strange," Lucius said with a pointed smile. "I should think all students would still be getting up around this hour."

Hermione put on a cool expression, but shifted her bag beside her uneasily. "I should think you'd be working at the Ministry right now," she said. "Ron's father did say you worked with him… or was I mistaken?"

Lucius' expression turned icy. "I do work for the Ministry," he told her. "I do _not_ work in the same department as Arthur Weasley." His emphasis on the last name made it clear just what he thought of such an insinuation.

"You ought to run along, mudblood," Draco hissed. "Before something accidental happens."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying not to show that his barb had sunk in. "Dumbledore is not an idiot," she said quietly. "He knows what goes on in his own school." She moved to leave anyway, taking it for a chance to get away without incident.

A word was hissed, though, and she felt herself freeze. A light, floating sensation overtook her – her bag was tumbling from her arms, but there was really no problem with that…

"Draco seems to think you've better things to do than talk to us," a voice said from somewhere in front of her. "I beg to differ."

She was blissful. Somewhere inside, Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to be standing quite so still, awaiting orders…

"Oh dear. My shoes are seeming slightly dirty. Perhaps you should shine them, like a good little mudblood."

Hermione moved, feeling an incredible urge to oblige, but something stopped her. She felt, somehow, that she had done this before, and resisted.

**Shine my shoes,** a displeased voice was saying tightly inside of her head.

And she bent down, taking the edge of her skirt and rubbing it over the older man's shoe leather…

"What are you doing?" a shaky voice was saying, just outside her awareness. "You can't- _Dumbledore-_ you'll go to _Azkaban-"_

"I dearly hope my own son is not questioning me, or my ability at memory charms. Or-" slyly now. "Perhaps you were wanting to try something _yourself_, Draco."

She looked up with a detached curiosity as Lucius raised an eyebrow at his son. "Dear Hermione," he said, without looking at her. "I think my son would like to have a little fun. You will oblige him, won't you?"

Hermione frowned. She wasn't entirely sure what he wanted her to do, if he'd tell her specifically-

Someone nearby was moving. She knew she ought to know who, but it was sort of hard to think underneath this mind fog… it wasn't very sensible, was it? Hermione absentmindedly began to clear it away, then pushed a little harder as it turned out to be harder to shake than she'd first suspected. There was something she had to understand…

"Don't, father," Draco whispered, pale white now. "You don't know Dumbledore- he'll have a way of finding out-"

The fog disappeared.

Hermione gasped in indignation and anger, reaching for her wand- _humiliating_ – he'd used an Unforgivable, didn't he know the consequences-

"_Expelliarmus__,"_ Lucius said lazily.

Her wand flew away, and she stared up at him, hair now mussed.

"Perhaps we should try for something more extreme," he said with a slight smile, taking her in. "A bit of pain- yes, that always does one good- would you oblige, Draco?"

Draco was looking at her with alarm, as though it had never occurred to him that he'd be asked to do something so stupid. "Father-"

"The _Cruciatus_ leaves unusual side-effects," Hermione whispered. "You can't."

Lucius looked amused by her response. "True enough. It's really too bad I can't frighten you properly – too many books, I'd imagine."

"_Obliviate__!_" was the last thing she heard.

Hermione gasped as something seared through her head, burning, hissing, destroying as it went-

-----

"Where am I?" Hermione croaked as she woke up to an awful headache. "Did I – did I pass out during class-"

"Shh," someone told her, pushing her back down. She recognized the voice.

"Sirius?" she said, surprised, blinking away spots. "What _happened?_"

He didn't say anything, but she felt his arm behind her back, helping her to sit up. "Here, drink this," he told her tightly. "It should help with the backlash."

"What backlash?" she asked blankly.

She remembered coming out of the library, walking down the hallway… but then…

Hermione's brow knit and she struggled at this point. It all became a blur… and her headache was getting worse now, the longer she tried to concentrate on it, becoming a fire in her brain. She felt her head drop into her hands as she moaned in pain.

Sirius' hands moved to her wrists, pulling her hands away and pushing her back against a pillow (Pillow? Where the hell was she?). He was pulling some covers up over her and placing something over her eyes.

"Don't try to think about it," he told her quietly. "It'll only make it worse."

Hermione sighed at the feel of the hot towel on her eyes, despite the worries rushing about her head. "Class-" she protested weakly.

"-will wait for you, I should think," he told her seriously. "You've got a few hours to go before it starts."

Something about this seemed wrong, but she just couldn't think what it was as his fingers smoothed back her hair gently.

"Now," he said, jerking his hand back as though in surprise at himself. "Do you think you can manage to drink a bit of this?"

Hermione murmured something that might have been a yes. She supposed he took it that way, as he tilted her head up to receive a cool glass against her lips. Something bittersweet slipped into her mouth and she swallowed with difficulty. Her headache eased just a little, but she knew it would take a bit longer to hit her fully.

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" she begged him as he let her down again. She'd never felt so _powerless_ before- she couldn't _remember-_

_"Jump onto the desk."_

_Harry frowned, and she felt a little hitch in her throat. He wasn't doing it!_

_"I said, jump onto the desk, Potter."_

_His slightly dreamy face faltered at this – it screwed up into a grimace as he both jumped and refused to do it at once._

_Hermione glowed at his success, but inwardly shivered at the thought that she would have to try too…_

Another memory, one that couldn't possibly have happened – Harry had never been put under the _Imperius_, and she would've done quite a deal more than just stand there and watch proudly as he fought it off…

"What's happening to me?" she whispered, agonized.

Sirius' hand, which had moved to pat hers reassuringly, closed on it tightly.

"It shouldn't have," he said angrily. "If only I weren't- that bastard deserves so much more-"

She wanted to ask what he was talking about, but found that her body was no longer functioning quite the way she wanted it to. Instead, the pain was diminishing from her head, and her limbs were turning to lead. Hermione felt herself falling into sleep even as she realized he had (quite ingeniously) added a sleeping potion to whatever he'd given her.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," he told her quietly, smoothing back her hair again. "You'll be fine. He just overdid it on purpose…"

Hermione murmured something tiredly, not even sure what she was saying anymore. Honestly, he probably needn't have even added that- she was so _tired_ as it was, and she couldn't sleep lately… Hermione absentmindedly pushed her timeturner deeper into her shirt.

"You're welcome," he told her, surprised. She realized she must have thanked him.

The world went black.


	11. With Good Intentions

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

O Athene! How I do love thee! How I dote on thee!

Can anyone tell I've been to play practice recently? Anyway – fanart was so worth the wait. You're a very good person.

The dancing reference will be important later, for those that care to notice. Actually, it will be important in the next part of the series – fourth year. Yes, there's a fourth year, sillies. Whether all our friends will be _alive_ during fourth year is questionable.

Aaaaand… a cookie to anyone who knows where the chapter title comes from.

**Chapter 10 – With Good Intentions**

"'He means well' is useless unless he does well."

**-Plautus**

Hermione woke later – how much later, she wasn't sure – and blinked as she discovered she was tightly snuggled beneath a heavy Hogwarts quilt on a soft feather bed.

The first thought was, of course… "Where am I?" she muttered groggily.

"Same place as usual," was Sirius' answer from right next to her. He was sitting in a familiar stuffed chair, just in front of the bed. "I just transfigured the couch is all."

Hermione yawned and found that her headache had completely disappeared.

"What-"

"You passed out," he told her quietly. "In the library."

In the library? Was that right?

But she remembered walking out… and staying, falling asleep, at the same time…

"Someone's tampered with my memory," she hissed. His face fell at this, and she glared at him. "You did it?"

Sirius sighed. "I did try, after the first-" he stopped and coughed, but it slipped from her hazy mind exactly what this was supposed to mean. "My memory charms are fairly awful, though. Can we just say you don't want to know?"

Hermione shrugged, forcing herself up. "I suppose. I've got enough things to worry about as it is." She focused instead on the lingering strangeness in her head, her brow knitting as she tried to lift the fog from it.

"I picked up your books for you," he informed her, rising momentarily to grab her bag from beside the temporary bed. "Breakfast should be starting in about two hours."

She gasped. "What? I slept a whole day-"

"No," he told her, face puzzled. "You only slept a few hours… I know, I've been here the whole time."

Hermione frowned, trying to figure it out. "But- I was awake at three, I thought- and the library was at least three hours-"

"I think you must've come awake quite a bit earlier than three, then," Sirius told her. "What clock were you going by?" He was looking very much concerned by the fact that she'd awoken at three am, but Hermione avoided his eyes carefully.

"My bedside one," she told him. "You're right, it must've been wrong."

Hermione pushed the covers off herself, but he stopped her with one hand on either shoulder. "You're certain you don't need to rest a bit longer?" he asked her.

She sniffed, but twitched as her head twinged a little. "I'll be fine," she said. "Thank you for- well, for everything, I suppose. That was quite a bit of trouble to go through on my account."

Sirius chuckled. "I should say you've gone through enough for me as well. I'd have to do this a few more times to make us square."

"I hope you don't ever need to," she told him fervently, then noticed that the invisibility cloak was draped over the back of his chair. "Have we found a solution for that yet?"

He followed her gaze. "I… think so," he told her hesitantly. "Your cat visited a while back-"

"He doesn't know where you are, though!" Hermione exclaimed.

"He does," Sirius said. "He's a smart cat. In any case, I told him what to find. I'll only really know once it gets here, but it should do."

"You'll let me know, then?" she asked, twisting the covers absently.

"Yes, I'll let you know," he said. Then sat back. "You should get a bit more rest. Maybe eat something from the food I nicked from the kitchens."

"I hope you didn't go to any great lengths-"

Sirius reached over to grab a plate, putting it in front of her. A cinnamon roll, scrambled eggs, bacon-

"Oh, you're wonderful," she amended, taking a fervent bite out of the roll.

He grinned. "Eat up, then. I'll be out for a bit – mind if I borrow that cloak for just a little while?"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering whether she ought to have been so eager to give away Harry's most treasured possession so easily. "I- no, go ahead," she managed lamely. "Just try to have it back before I leave."

Sirius was already gone.

As she ate and then lay back to get some quick sleep, Hermione had to wonder about quite a few things – not the least of which where Sirius had come up with whatever potion he'd used. She dearly hoped he hadn't stolen it from Snape – the bat-like teacher always noticed when the least thing went missing from his stores. Not to mention his _eyes_ as he'd talked of Sirius Black's escape… Snape knew something, she was certain.

By the time Sirius had gotten back, she was dozing lightly, still trying futilely to make up for weeks of lost sleep – his entrance made her blink awake tiredly as he shoved something into her hand. He looked slightly weary but ultimately triumphant. "Take this after your stomach's settled," he told her. "It should help quite a bit."

Hermione blinked as she looked at it. It was a clear, gold color, shining brightly in the darkened room. She'd never seen any potion even remotely like it.

"Where did you get it?" she asked suspiciously, looking past him to the cloak that was draped across the chair once more.

"Don't worry about it," he told her, waving his hand. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you're implying."

She relaxed at this. "Well… thank you."

Class started normally, just as he'd said – she hadn't missed a thing, even after stashing Harry's cloak back in his trunk. Partway through Charms, she excused herself to the bathroom and drank down the potion Sirius had given her. It spread through her warmly, tingling a bit in her throat, and she felt a surge of something pleasant jolt through her. Hermione blinked, suddenly feeling better than she had in days – and decided not to dwell on it too long, because Charms was still waiting.

Hermione's quill wrote the most grammatically correct sentence on its own, and she glowed proudly as Flitwick pointed this out to the class in delight. During Defense Against the Dark Arts, she noticed that Malfoy was eyeing her with something akin to surprise on his face, but when she turned to look at him severely, he quickly diverted his gaze to the floor. Something inside her leapt at making the Slytherin so uncomfortable, even though she wasn't quite sure why he would be that way.

Even the timeturner couldn't quite get her down – and though she was still hearing voices, they seemed strangely muted, as though coming from far away…

Hermione returned to the room that night to thank him profusely, but he was sleeping when she got there. Instead, she left him a note and a bar of Honeyduke's best chocolate, which she'd been saving for a rainy day.

"Hey, Hermione?" Harry asked her as she hummed happily, working on her homework in the common room. "Do you still have my trunk key?"

She stopped and blinked a moment, furrowing her brow. "Oh. Yes, I'm sure I do-"

Key. She'd need the key to- to steal it, later. Oh bother.

"I'll get it from my room, I think I might've left it in there."

Hermione excused herself quickly, walking up the stairs to the dormitory and pulling the curtains of her bed, pulling the forgotten key from her robe's pocket. _"Genero _key," she murmured, pointing her wand at the small metal key in her hand. Happily, though she'd never really practiced the charm, it worked perfectly. A perfect copy popped into existence right beside it, and she smiled to herself as she stowed it back in her pocket.

The girl walked downstairs then, to hand Harry back his original with a happy smile. "All in order, then," she told him, before sitting down to tackle her homework with a vengeance.

Harry just stood there, though, staring at her. For a moment, she thought wildly that he might have noticed something-

"Hermione," he said in amazement. "You're – well. You're _happy!"_

She laughed to herself as she finished her Potions essay and went smoothly onto her Transfiguration homework. "What's wrong with that?"

"N-nothing," he said hastily, "It's just- different. Usually you're so _stressed_-"

She shrugged, marveling at how easy things were when you actually had the _energy_ for them. "Things are getting better."

Hermione managed, miraculously, to finish all of her homework for the week _and_ to get to bed by eleven.

Things were _definitely _getting better.

The next day wasn't quite as good as the last – the timeturner had begun to wear on her again, and the homework was as bad as ever. The voices came back, too; whispers about Voldemort and his greatest servant, a tournament and a spare…

Hermione was slightly frazzled by the time she got to Sirius' room, but still feeling better than normal.

He was sitting in the chair, staring into the fire seriously – she found herself surprised that he didn't notice her presence immediately.

"Sirius?" she asked.

He blinked, then turned to her. Without so much as a 'hello', he immediately said, "I think I should start showing you how to duel."

There was a pause, during which Hermione decided that this was one of the last things she would have expected from him.

"What?" she asked blankly.

He raked his hand through his hair unhappily, looking just a little tired. "I know it's sudden, but I've thought this through – and if Peter figures anything out, if I'm not there- I want you to be able to do something about it."

Hermione might have protested anyway – her work load was worse than ever before – but something in his expression disintegrated any negative answers that might have come out of her mouth.

"I – I suppose," she sighed heavily. "I'll figure something out."

The tension in his face smoothed out at this, and Sirius looked so relieved that she found herself gratified at her own response.

"We'll see when you have the time," he promised. "Just whenever you can."

The next few weeks could very easily be described as pure hell. The burst of energy that had come with the potion had gone by the end of the week, and Hermione found herself once again hurrying to keep up with her work. Sirius was still working on something she wasn't certain about – he was now reading books by the dozens and frowning, taking notes while she worked at Lupin's Defense Against the Dark Arts essays and tried not to curse Snape too loudly for his awful assignments. Dueling lessons were always short but intense; after Sirius got over his initial reluctance to hit her, Hermione found herself learning an inordinate amount of material. It was, surprisingly, her most gratifying 'class'.

As Christmas approached and the break finally came (along with sleep, bless the world), Hermione found herself in the very unique position of trying to come up with a few good presents for a few very unique people. Firstly, the Boy-Who-Lived really deserved something nice, seeing as she was going to take his cloak (still guilty, but still necessary). Secondly in her guilty presents area, the twins really needed something nice to brighten their days (they'd moped for a full two weeks after she'd switched the map). And she always got Ron a nice present _other_ than his hand-knitted sweater.

The real challenge was, of course, Sirius Black.

What on earth did one get for a man on the lam?

While at Hogsmeade with Fred and George, Hermione found herself pondering this very question as she snuck their presents from Zonko's to the front and bought them beneath their notice.

It took a chunk out of her savings, but Hermione decided to buy Harry the astronomy model he'd been eyeing for some time, and Ron would get a wonderful wizard's chess set she'd found at discount, which consisted of the teams that would be competing in the Quidditch World Cup soon – Ireland and Bulgaria, if she was correct.

Sirius, though – what on earth was she supposed to get him?

She was still struggling with the answer as she collapsed wearily onto the sofa that night, after about an hour of trying to properly jinx a very dodgy Sirius Black.

A string of sweet, chiming music floated to her ears, and Hermione blinked in surprise as she saw that Sirius was listening intently to a small musical locket.

"What's that?" she asked him. "It's beautiful!"

His face turned odd, but she thought she must have imagined it a moment later, because he was smiling.

"_That_," he said, "is a Viennese Waltz."

Sirius must have caught sight of her absolutely puzzled face, so he elaborated, snapping the locket shut and putting it down on the table. "A dance," he explained with a pleasant expression. "Quite a bit like the normal Waltz, but it's a good deal faster. And more fun."

Hermione laughed. "How do you know that?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I was _raised_ as a pureblood, you know," he said, pretending haughtiness. "I did, of course, learn to ballroom dance."

At this, her eyes opened just a little wider, and she found herself highly interested. "Oh?"

He chuckled, leaning back in the chair. "No one around here knows how to do the Viennese, though, I would wager," he said, with a slightly wistful look in his eyes. "It's not the easiest of dances, Merlin only knows…" He blinked at her. "You wouldn't have taken a bit of dance, by any chance-"

Hermione blushed. "A bit of ballet, when I was young. But I'm afraid the most I know of ballroom is the basic Waltz. You know, the little box step."

Sirius shrugged. "That's more than most people. If you'd like, one of these days I could show you how to do some of the other moves…" His face turned amused, though. "No, I would guess not. I'm probably awfully rusty, anyway."

She felt a gentle smile making its way onto her face as she imagined him learning how to dance, as a boy. For some reason, the idea wasn't quite as ridiculous as she might have thought it before. It seemed she'd found a little spot of happiness in his years with the Blacks.

A thought hit her, then, and her mouth quirked. "Does this mean Malfoy knows how to dance?" she asked with a slight snort.

His reaction wasn't quite what she would've expected. His face turned tight and slightly angry. "Yes, I suppose…"

Hermione decided not to ask what he had against the boy – it was rather obvious, after all. No one with an ounce of decency liked Malfoy.

As Sirius moved to pick up one of the books in a pile next to him, she found herself staring at the title. _Advanced Transfiguration: Book Five._ "What have you been reading?" she asked, surprised.

He blinked, then grimaced. "I've been trying to find a way to freeze an Animagus in one form," he told her. "It's a lot trickier than it sounds, let me assure you."

Hermione bit at her lip. "I'd assume so – about as difficult as becoming one in the first place. You do realize you'd have to completely reverse the process on a contingency basis-"

"No," he shook his head, having apparently already researched this particular lead. "That's impossible. You'd have to start, in effect, from before you cast the spell. The calculations don't work out. What I've been looking at instead is a way to just block the first part of the spell – the trigger one. Especially since I rather have to prove the little rat _was_ a little rat to get my innocence, and the other way would make it impossible for him to transform again."

Hermione chewed at her lip before giving up tiredly. Her brain was already working on overdrive. "I'd try to help," she sighed, "But I have this feeling I'd only get in the way."

Sirius shrugged. "I've got enough time to research it – you, on the other hand, look like you're going to keel over at any moment. I'd suggest sitting down."

Hermione realized he was right – her hands had begun to tremble in weariness. "Oh," she murmured, "No, I have to get back to the common room, I think."

He shrugged and turned a page, brow furrowed in thought. Hermione tried not to be envious of his obvious relaxation. "I think I'll be back tomorrow," she yawned broadly. "If I don't keel over first, like you said."

Sirius' watched her pensively as she slipped out of the room.

So it was with a slight trepidation that she returned to the common room, thinking of presents and curses and all kinds of things that she really ought not to be.

So preoccupied was she that she almost ran straight into Harry and Ron as they hurried out of the portrait.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped. "You have to come, it's Hagrid-"

"What?" she said, losing her other thoughts in a whirl of concern. "Nothing's happened to him, has it?"

"It's not _him_," Ron managed. "It's – it's Buckbeak! Lucius Malfoy came up to the castle and talked with Dumbledore – he's putting the thing on trial as a dangerous animal!"

Hermione dropped her books off in the common room quickly, forgetting everything else as they found out about the poor beast whose fate rested in poor Hagrid's hands. Hermione vowed then and there, as she looked at Hagrid's tear-stained face, that she would do everything she could to rescue it. For the moment, she forgot that she had already made quite a few vows of this sort to herself.

She fell into bed, exhausted, that night.

But it seemed that only moments later, someone was shaking her, panicked. "Hermione!" Harry was gasping. "Come on, Dumbledore wants us out of here, all the students are going to the Great Hall-"

"What?" she managed. "I'm _sleeping_, Harry, what time is it?"

"Hermione, it's Sirius Black! He got into the dormitory!"

Her eyes shot open immediately, and she tumbled out of bed. "What?" Hermione gasped. "No, I don't believe it, he _wouldn't!"_

"He did," Harry said grimly. "He's gone now, but no one even knows how he got in or what he was after." A strange shudder overtook him. "I wouldn't have recognized him… he looks so _normal…_"

She found she had no choice but to follow Harry down to the Great Hall with the others, stumbling along as she did. Harry was uncomfortably quiet… she realized it must have been because he thought Sirius had been in there to kill him. Hermione impulsively moved to grasp his hand comfortingly, squeezing once before letting it go. Harry only had a moment to look at her askance before they got to the hall and separated to different sides of the room as the girls and boys were asked to do.

Hermione knew she ought to go to sleep, so as not to look suspicious. But there was just no way to _know_- teachers were coming and going, in the dark of night, she could hear them murmuring, what if one of them had _found_ him-

Lupin's unmistakable silhouette broke her from her grim thoughts as he moved toward the Headmaster, near her.

"Not in any of the old passages," he said quietly. "I checked the Shrieking Shack, but it doesn't look as though he's been using it either."

Dumbledore nodded at him. "I do not believe you were helping him," he said abruptly, as though it were in question.

Lupin sagged in relief. "You know I wouldn't," he said in a quietly pained voice. "Not after- not after Lily and James. Never."

The Headmaster patted him on the shoulder. "I have a feeling he is no longer in the castle, in any case. Not even Sirius Black would chance a full search for him."

But Hermione noticed, as Dumbledore moved away, that Lupin was frowning deeply in the moonlight.

"There's _nothing_ he wouldn't chance," Lupin sighed.

She felt her mouth open before she could do anything to stop it. "Professor Lupin?" she whispered.

He stiffened, turning to look at her. "Miss Granger?" he asked sternly. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

"I'm sorry," she said truthfully. "I- I just can't. I don't know very much about what happened…"

"Sirius Black somehow made his way past the Fat Lady," Lupin said quietly, walking toward her sleeping bag and kneeling down so as not to disturb the other students. "No one was hurt, and the whole matter should be resolved by morning."

Hermione tensed. "Do you believe they'll find him?"

For a moment, it looked as though Lupin were on a precipice, trying to decide whether to tell her the truth or a nice lie. "No," he said finally. "I don't think they will. He's much smarter than most people give him credit for."

And that was apparently the end of that.

Hermione was surprised yet again that night, though, by a figure sneaking across to her bag. She fingered her wand absently as they approached, knowing even as she did that no one would dare try anything in the middle of a hall of witnesses.

"Granger," a very familiar voice breathed in her ear.

She bit back a screech and lay still. "What do you want?" she bit out, hand tightening on her wand.

"I never did it," he told her, the words carrying some sort of hidden meaning. "I even came back, to look for you, but you were gone. Tell whoever found you. Tell them I saved you. You've got to remember it, Granger, it's my life we're talking about."

And then, inexplicably, he was gone.

Day came without sleep, but her hazy mind had forgotten his visit. Finally, the teachers announced affirmatively that Black was no longer in the castle and had not been caught. The students went back to their dormitories – where she discovered something that sent chills down her spine.

"It's gone, Hermione," Harry hissed to her as he stormed into the commonroom. "That's what he was after, it's _gone!"_

"What's gone?" she asked fearfully, not understanding what could make him so _angry-_

"The cloak," Harry bit out – he was holding something in his hand tightly, a crumpled note, and a locket-

"What is that?" she asked, eyes fixed on the tiny golden chain that hung from his hand.

"A trade," he said quietly, a little of the bitterness gone. "I don't know why, though, unless it's jinxed."

Hermione pried open his hand and took the note, reading quickly through it. It seemed to have been torn from something official, the parchment slightly yellowed but still very important looking-

_"-that should any ill befall Lily or James Potter, this locket should be given to their son, Harry James Potter, along with the assurances that it was his mother's, and was charmed by her hand with heavy protection spells-"_

And then, something scrawled at the bottom, in a completely different handwriting, tight and neat and somehow reminding her of the man she'd helped to hide.

_"I'm sorry."_

"I don't understand," Harry said, suddenly looking absolutely wretched. "I don't understand anything… how would he _know_ about the cloak, how would he get his hands on this, why would he-"

Hermione felt something inside of her hurting. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she whispered. "I don't understand either." But when she checked her pocket, the key was gone.

"I remember waking up," he said quietly, looking around the room once and finding that the rest of the students had gone upstairs again. "I remember _seeing_ him, standing over me- he looked so strange, he was just _staring_, like he knew me from somewhere…"

Hermione made a decision, then, and grabbed the locket from his hand, pushing it over her head. Harry let out a gasp of surprise and fear, but… it simply hung there, suspended from her neck.

"Not cursed," she said, pulling it back over her head again and handing it to him. "And delay spells are fairly easy to find, if you want me to check…"

"Why did you _do_ that?" Harry demanded. "You don't know what he could've done to it- what if it had killed you-"

"I just had a feeling is all!" she snapped. "Look, if you want, I'll check this and give it back – I just- I just figure if you asked a teacher, they'd take it away…"

Harry was looking at her in surprise now. "Hermione," he said, sounding slightly impressed. "You're not going to hand it in?"

She flushed a bright red. "No, I'm not."

He was fiddling with the catch on the locket now, and as it opened, he stared inside.

A soft strain of music was leaking from it, a Viennese Waltz-

"It has her picture," he whispered. "Her and my dad."

Hermione moved sharply to look over his shoulder and saw that this was true. The two people weren't moving – a muggle picture?

"Is he making fun of me?" Harry asked in a miserable voice. Hermione opened her mouth instinctively to reassure him-

It was in this moment that Ron came down the stairs, his eyes moving around the room hurriedly – they fell on Hermione, and he rushed down, red-faced. "You!" he said angrily. "You- you and that bloody _cat!"_

She pulled back, surprised and slightly afraid. Ron stopped in front of her – he was holding something in his hand, a sheet-

"Oh," she whispered.

It was stained with blood.


	12. Unfogging the Future

**Out of Time  
By Rurouni Star**

Two cookies! Congrats to Almaseti and Marstri for knowing their proverbs! Yes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. As for the grammar, I'm an anal obsessive-compulsive editor of both my own works and others'. It's not as fun as it sounds, but at least it turns out readable stuff.

Now this latest plot development near the end of the chapter – I really debated on it. But it was way too ironic to leave out, and very funny, in a sadistic kind of way. Have fun.

**Chapter 11 – Unfogging the Future**

"Reality is a question of perspective; the further you get from the past, the more concrete and plausible it seems -- but as you approach the present, it inevitably seems incredible."

**-Salman Rushdie**

"Where is it?" Ron bit out, his eyes flashing. "I'll hex that stupid cat into next week- where _is_ it?"

Harry was shoving the locket into his robe, now, looking at the sheet in a similar state of shock. "What are you talking about, Ron?" he asked, unable to see the blood. "It's a _sheet-"_

"Her cat killed Scabbers!" Ron snarled. "He's gone, and there's blood on the sheet, and I saw that cat leaving the dormitory as we left for the hall-"

"That's quite far enough!" Hermione hissed back. "Crookshanks has been really good lately! He hasn't so much as _looked_ at your stupid rat!"

"So why is Scabbers gone, then?" Ron asked indignantly. "You're _defending_ that bloody beast, I don't believe it!"

"I'll defend him all I want!" she said angrily. "He didn't do it, and you can't convince me he did!" _Even though it would serve that bastard right, being eaten by a cat-_

This thought inevitably lead to Sirius and the fact that he may have disappeared from the castle. It made sense immediately. _Pettigrew faked it – he saw Sirius in the commonroom and decided he had to leave- Crookshanks was there to get him inside, somehow, and he'd brought the locket- Ron's right, that beast listened to him instead of me, I don't believe it-_

"-and if you _think_ I'm going to just sit here and do nothing while that pug-nosed _thing_ goes free, you're _dead_ wrong!"

Hermione's jaw clenched as she felt something inside of her pushing to get out. It might have been a scream or a sob – she wasn't sure. "And if _you_ think I'm going to sit here and take this kind of abuse because of a rat that never did anything but get fat, Ron, you're insane." _I've been doing nothing but stress over him and his situation right next to Pettigrew, the least he could do is not throw the first thing he can in my face…_

"You're just defending that lump of a cat!" Ron yelled, scarlet faced.

"Ron, Hermione, _please-_" Harry hissed. "Keep it down, or people will start looking to see what it is-"

"I DON'T CARE, HER CAT KILLED SCABBERS-"

Hermione spun on her heel and pushed open the Fat Lady angrily, feeling frustrated tears in her eyes. It seemed every single person on this earth was determined to make her worry herself sick about them by the end of the week. "Shut up!" she screamed. "Shut _up_, you don't know what you're talking about!"

And she slammed the poor Fat Lady closed before stalking off to her little sanctuary.

Hermione swallowed as she entered it, her hands tight in fists. The room was pitch black. He wasn't here, but she wanted to _kill_ him, he'd not listened- and he was probably cold and alone now except for his damned invisibility cloak he'd so needed.

"You bastard!" she said angrily, pushing away angry tears. "I trusted you – I _trusted _you-"

She collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her arms. "You could have died," she sobbed. "Why didn't you _let_ me…"

It made sense now, all of it – the lessons in defense, the constant warnings about Peter. He'd been planning to make the switch himself the whole time, and to leave, if things went wrong… or maybe he'd been planning to leave regardless…

Hermione remained in the room for a long time, feeling chilled and exhausted and afraid. She fell asleep and woke up alone, after some amount of time she wasn't sure of.

But he never came back.

By Christmas day, Hermione found herself in a state very similar to what she'd been in before the whole thing. Buckbeak the hippogriff's case was not looking up, and she was working very hard at turning the deflection theory she'd read up on into a reality. Just because Sirius wasn't there anymore didn't mean she had to give up learning how to defend herself.

Harry was delighted with his present, but Ron had been pointedly ignoring her for weeks and didn't even open his. Fred and George were amazed that she'd even thought to get them anything, but they proudly proclaimed her set of indoor fireworks their best presents yet.

And then, there was the last present of Harry's. A brand new Firebolt, the newest and greatest broom sensation. Ron almost forgot to be nasty to her as he took it in, staring unabashedly.

"Who do you think it's from?" the red-haired boy whispered in awe.

Hermione snorted and buried her head in her book on Hippogriff habits, inwardly feeling tired and slightly hurt as she tried not to think about where Sirius might have been at the moment. Harry probably knew, or at least suspected, who it was from, but she'd not put it past him to use the thing anyway. She was right, of course. He took it to the next practice with him.

McGonnagal wanted to confiscate it after the first time he used it – the woman seemed to have the same suspicions, for different reasons. But after it having been used for hours with no ill effects, she couldn't find any good reason to do so.

She wondered sometimes where Pettigrew had gone – worried about it every spare minute, actually. But she didn't have the map, and she couldn't ask Sirius about any places in the castle he might be hiding. Lupin was, as usual, out of the question. A thrill of doom went through her every time rats were mentioned, as though there were a time bomb ticking somewhere in her stomach.

Lupin was once again looking concerned for her during classes, though he said nothing. Hermione found herself in the library more often than not these days, trying to either find that paragraph that would save Buckbeak or learn some kind of jinx that blinded one's senses.

"Hagrid," she said weakly one time, as she visited his hut and dumped a new load of vaguely hopeful data onto him. "I'm so sorry, I just can't seem to find anything good-" And the next moment, she was crying, tired tears pouring down her face as the poor man rocked her back and forth comfortingly.

"You been doin' a great job," Hagrid told her confidently. "Bucky migh' even have a chance, with all o' this."

"I-it's just I've been so b-busy," she sobbed, ignoring his comforting words. "C-classes and Ron and his s-stupid rat-"

"He still goin' on abou' that?" Hagrid asked with a frown.

"He thinks Crookshanks killed him, but I _know_ he didn't-"

"How d'yeh know tha'?" Hagrid asked in surprise.

She sniffled and tried to remember what she'd told Harry. "W-well, there was blood on the sheet- and Crookshanks didn't have any on him, and he still ate n-normally…"

The Care of Magical Creatures teacher frowned. "I'll give 'em a talkin' to, Hermione, don' worry-"

"No!" she burst out, surprising herself.

Hagrid looked curiously at her and she shrank. "I just- I don't want him pretending to be nice just because you tell him to…"

The tall man sighed. "If that's what yeh want, I won' say anythin'." He didn't look at all happy about it, though.

Hermione went back to the room again later that night, sitting in the darkness and trying to get hold of herself before having to go back. She wondered how Sirius was doing. She was angry with him for taking that awful risk, but she still wondered if he'd been eating all right, if he'd found somewhere to stay…

She'd drifted off before she could stop herself.

_"It's awful, Hermione, he was staying in a **cave**, eating rats! I wish he'd never come, I wish he'd stayed wherever it was he'd been before- he sounded a lot happier then-"_

_"And he's dead, and it's my fault, I should have listened to you-"_

_"Hermione?"___

**_"Hermione?"_****__**

_"I miss you so much, Sirius…" A choked sob._

She sat up with a gasp, clutching at her chest. For the strangest moment, she'd thought Sirius was _dead_.

"Maybe he is," she whispered to herself uncertainly. "For all I know, he might be…"

Hermione left the room darkened, as she'd found it, and hurried along the corridors toward the common room.

But for some strange, inexplicable reason, she wasn't going to the common room. No, her steps were taking her elsewhere, as though her feet knew better than she where she was going…

_I need something to take my mind off of all of this…_ she thought desperately. _Maybe if I found Malfoy, I could hex him – sort of satisfying, even if it **is** utterly stupid and impulsive and against the rules…_

But then, she saw a door – inset with glass and glowing slightly, as though there were something inside, waiting…

She pushed it open, completely aware that she was being stupid. Then gasped as her hand slipped off of the handle.

Books. Films – old films, and a projector – and something that looked like a record player…

The projector was going, casting a shadow of a dancing couple onto the wall opposite it. Hermione walked toward it, mesmerized, as she recognized their steps as a variation on the single box step she knew…

"Viennese Waltz," she choked out, laughing. "What an awful coincidence!"

It was beautiful – refined – the two people floated across the screen as though by magic. But it wasn't magic making them rise and fall like a sigh. Hermione recognized an extreme level of muscle coordination, upper body strength, and supreme grace.

There were footprints trailing on the floor in imitation. She realized then that someone was obviously meant to follow them.

"Me?" she muttered, confused. "But why would I want to learn how to dance…" The answer came a moment later. She'd been looking for a distraction, and here it was. Something interesting to learn, even if it wasn't strictly book knowledge.

"Well then," she said brightly, "No time like the present."

By the time she'd gotten back to the commonroom, Hermione was wondering just how someone could hurt so much from trying to learn posture. Of course, she'd worked on it before (a little bit, a tiny bit) but now she was beginning to think she knew the true meaning of sore.

She'd started on Waltz – the normal one – and quickly found she had no idea what she was doing. There wasn't just a box, of course, there was something called a change step, too, where you _kept_ going backward in half boxes…

Hermione fervently hoped no one would ever test her on her dancing. She loved trying to learn it, but she didn't fancy falling over someone else's feet in public.

She calmly ignored Ron as she went up the stairs to her bed, and he did the same to her. They'd learned something of the proper procedure for this sort of thing by now.

She couldn't help imagining, though, surprising Sirius as she asked him to dance. _You?_ he'd say. _But you don't know how!_

And then, of course, Hermione would do the Viennese Waltz perfectly, gliding like the woman in the film, all over the floor…

A snort escaped her as she realized she was daydreaming far ahead of where she currently was. It would be nice to shock him, of course, but she hardly had time to learn such a thing, and so far she hadn't seemed to progress very well in it.

No, she'd work on Buckbeak's trial first…

Exams were fast approaching when she got the news.

An owl flew in the window of her dormitory, catching her eye, and Hermione gasped as she read the hurriedly scrawled note at the bottom.

_Dear Hermione,_

_We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed. Beaky has enjoyed __London__. I won't forget all the help you gave us. _

_Hagrid.___

She rushed down the stairs, intent on seeing Hagrid immediately, but ran smack into someone. Hermione groaned and clutched her head in her hands, seeing stars.

"Sorry- oh. It's you." Ron's voice sent an angry shudder through her.

"I- I suppose you wouldn't want to come anyway," she burst out, surprising herself with a teary voice. "But you ought to know- Buckbeak's lost the trial."

What followed was something even she couldn't quite comprehend. A blur of apologies and tears that she hadn't known she possessed. "We'll help for the appeal," Ron was promising fervently. "You won't do it alone this time."

Harry's hand patted her on the back consolingly, and she realized he was there too. "We'll talk to him tomorrow, in class," he told her. "You look like you need the rest, though."

Hermione deflated. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I do…"

But sleep was hard to find that night, and she found herself slipping into the strange room yet again, learning how to do a brush twinkle the best she could without a partner and finding things were coming easier now. When she heard the bell that rang for breakfast, Hermione blinked and wondered idly whether she'd last the day. It reminded her a bit of a fairy tale her mother had read her a long time ago, called the Twelve Dancing Princesses…

_Missing a fairy prince to that one, though, aren't I?_ she thought wryly as she walked down to breakfast, a light sheen of sweat on her face.

Being outside during Care of Magical Creatures kept her awake admirably well. They talked to Hagrid, but he didn't seem very optimistic at all about Buckbeak's appeal. Hermione left with an unhappy lump in her stomach, but this didn't make her miss the obvious laughter from behind her…

"Look at him blubber!" Malfoy crowed. "Have you ever seen anything so quite as pathetic-"

An intense anger bubbled inside her, a hatred that was more intense than anything she'd felt in a good long while- she'd walked up to him, she realized. Her hand was raised-

SMACK.

"You bastard," she hissed at him. "You're sending an innocent creature off to die because of _nothing-"_

Malfoy was staring at her in surprise and perhaps a bit of alarm. Because Hermione Granger the mudblood never fought back, she always put her head down and walked away without a fight…

Ron and Harry were holding her back now. There was a red mark staining Malfoy's pale white face, and he glared at her. "You ought to be more grateful, Granger," he told her angrily. "If it hadn't been for me…" he trailed off, apparently realizing he didn't want to say what he had.

"What?" Hermione asked, her anger making her shudder. "If it weren't for you, my hand wouldn't hurt!"

But he was walking away hurriedly now, with his cronies behind him. Hermione gritted her teeth and thrashed in Harry and Ron's grip. "Let me after him, I'll hex him into _nothing-"_

"Hermione!" said Ron, sounding impressed. "I didn't know you had it in you!"

She glared at him. "I mean it. Let me go and I'll-"

"Charms!" Harry gasped. "We're late!"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she involuntarily looked down at her timeturner. She'd have to go to Arithmancy-

Harry and Ron released her, going at a run, but she slipped the turner out of her shirt and flipped it twice, giving her time to get to the class…

In Arithmancy, though, her lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with her. She caught herself drifting more than once, and only barely made it up to the dormitory to pick up her Charms textbook…

"Oh," she said tiredly, setting the Arithmancy book down on the commonroom desk. "Oh, I'm so tired… what chapter did we do today, I need to… need to check…"

She only managed to turn to the nineteenth chapter before dropping her head to the page, staring at the words. She could still see them from here, even if they were swimming a little… no need to not rest her head… and maybe she could let her eyes stay closed a little longer, they were just becoming so _uncomfortable_…

Hermione was only vaguely aware when someone behind her chuckled – the book below her cheek slid away gently, and someone warm was picking her up, walking up some stairs…

"Have I been asking too much of you?" he asked her quietly as he set her beneath her covers. Hermione shifted with a sigh, only really half awake, and felt her breathing begin to regulate again as someone brushed the hair away from her face, warm fingers lingering just a little longer than normal. "I'm sorry."

She smiled in her half-awake state, feeling something awful that had settled into her chest disappear. "N'ta problem," she sighed, knowing as she did so that she wouldn't remember anything of this when she woke.

He seemed to freeze for a minute before figuring out she wasn't really awake. "Right then, off to sleep," he murmured with amusement. "What've you been doing without me to make you get some _rest…"_

Hermione fell asleep, then, to a soft blanket against her cheek and a blissful feeling of completed weariness within her.

_"This is my pensieve, yes, Miss Granger. The memories inside are not all mine, however – Professor Snape has kindly donated a few of his, as did Sirius, before he left us."_

_"Why do I need to look into the pensieve?" she was asking, puzzled and not a little bit distressed at the almost casual way Dumbledore talked about Sirius being… being…_

_"You'll find a common theme soon enough, I expect."_

_And she was falling, losing herself, seeing something else…_

Waking up was disorienting.

Partially because she was _not_ sitting at a table reading her Arithmancy book. No, in point of fact, Hermione was snuggled in her own bed, smiling dreamily at something-

Oh.

That dream had been so odd, though. She knew she should have known what a pensieve was – she'd heard of it somewhere, probably in some book or other. But whatever it was, why would Dumbledore be showing it to her? And what did _Snape_ have to do with all of this? And why- why had Dumbledore talked so casually about Sirius as though he knew he were innocent, and then as though something had happened to him

Hermione shuddered and chalked it up as a bad dream. She was still allowed to have normal bad dreams, wasn't she? She threw the covers off, rubbing at her arms as she felt herself suddenly go cold.

The next moment, Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh no, _Charms-"_

She flew down the stairs, pulling her book with her and hustling through the corridors, wondering how much she'd missed-

"Miss Granger?" Flitwick's surprised voice said as she burst in the door, gasping. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione almost sobbed as she noticed that the room was empty. "Oh no, I missed it, didn't I?"

Flitwick laughed. "I should hardly think so, at noon. Aren't you supposed to be at lunch, Miss Granger?"

_Lunch?_

She gaped at him before he made a quick shooing motion at her, and Hermione hurried outside, closing the door behind her.

_I must've gone back too far… but no, that's impossible, I would've been in the wrong Arithmancy class then…_

The concept unsettled her more than a little as she walked down to lunch. Food was sounding rather good, actually.

Hermione was just beginning to think that things might be looking up a bit when she got to Divination.

She should have known better than to turn optimistic so soon.

As Hermione entered the room, coughing and waving away the incense smoke that was trying to worm its way into her nose and mouth, she looked around for Harry and Ron. They were sitting at a table together, looking tiredly at a crystal ball in the center of the table.

"Oh no," she muttered as she sat down next to them, the warm air and hissing whispers of smoke already making her drowsy. "She's starting us on crystal gazing?"

Ron sighed miserably. "Yeah, I know. I looked through the chapter-" Hermione stared at him, jaw slack at the idea of Ron actually reading something independently, "-and it looks like more of that usual mumbo-jumbo. Open your mind and all that bunk."

Hermione resisted the urge to toss their ball out a window, annoyed. "This class is so _useless-_" she hissed at them, meaning to say more but being forced to stop as Trelawny appeared from the back of the room, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned," she told them mistily. "The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."

Hermione snorted to herself, but said nothing. Honestly, _the fates…_ Trelawny was the one that set the exam!

The woman was still talking, but she didn't bother to listen. Hermione set her chin in her palm and stared into the swirling white mist of the crystal ball instead. It was almost soothing, the way it rose and fell in waves… if nothing else, the thing was worth a bit of mental relaxation.

Hermione amused herself by trying to find shapes in the ball, like in clouds… yes, there, that – that looked a lot like a dog. Maybe if the eyes were more defined, she could see it as a wolf of some sort… oh look, the eyes _were_ coming into focus…

She blinked lazily as she saw the dog-cloud changing, turning into a man- Sirius, it looked like, a Sirius that looked just as wild and untamed as she'd found him. And though seeing something like this would have been considered very unusual by her standards at any other time, now Hermione found it was a very normal thing to her mind. The girl continued staring, watching as he held another man by the collar, threatening him with a wand, eyes burning madly…

But it was twisting, turning hazy before her eyes, and before she could focus more on it, it melted away, to become something entirely different. The wolf, beneath the full moon, but it was unmoving because the man Sirius had been throttling before had done something to it, his eyes burning with a strange, fervent light… and there was her, too, she wasn't moving, she was lying beside the wolf as though she were dead…

"Miss Granger?" Trelawny's voice cut through her dreamy musings. "Would you care to read the crystal ball?"

Hermione sighed, still feeling strangely detached, and looked at it again. The swirling mist was back, but it was coalescing again…

"Mm," she murmured, eyeing the mist. It was changing into a twisting snake – a skull – something burning-

She knew, however unfocused she was, that this was a very bad sign. But somehow, her mouth didn't agree with her. "It looks like a skull," she said, eyelids drooping, vaguely aware that Harry and Ron were now staring at her, alarmed. Because Hermione didn't believe in any Divination mumbo-jumbo, she didn't think it held any significance… "And a snake," she continued. "No, the snake is its tongue… strange, that… it's hissing at me now, I don't think it's happy…"

A dread silence had descended on the room, but no one interrupted her. They watched, listened in horrified fascination. "The snake is trying to get out, but it can't," she said. "It wants to bite me, but it's stuck inside the ball… it's waiting for the rat." She didn't know how she knew this, but she did.

Hermione blinked, then felt her mind clear. She shook her head, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. She'd seen something, maybe she'd found a funny shape, like with clouds…

"I'm sorry," she said to the Professor, who was standing above her. "There's nothing but a bunch of white fog. I think I drifted off for a moment, actually."

Harry and Ron were staring at her, slack-jawed. She felt herself become annoyed. "Oh, it's not like one of you two doesn't do it every so often!" she snapped.

"N-no, Hermione," Ron stuttered. "Didn't you just- don't you know what you just _said_-?"

She frowned. "I didn't say anything. The heat must be getting to you."

"My _dear!"_ Professor Trelawny was saying, sounding impressed. "You have just _seen!"_

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I very much doubt that," she said sarcastically, "seeing as I don't have an ounce of talent."

Wait.

Trelawny hadn't said that. That had been one of her strange visions.

_Visions!_ No, it wasn't possible! Had she been seeing the future, the whole time? Hermione felt a shudder wrack her suddenly, and she stood up hurriedly, feeling the blood rush from her face. No. It wasn't possible. Divination was stupid, and imprecise- it wasn't _true!_

"This class is rubbish!" she gasped. "I'm leaving! I'm _leaving!"_

No one moved to stop her as she ran out of the room, slamming the trap door behind her.


	13. In Confidence

**Out of Time**

**By Rurouni Star**

Firstly, an answer to a few questions: Hermione didn't recognize the symbol of the Dark Lord because she was currently in dreamy dreamy land. It was funnier that way. Or perhaps I mean more tragically comical. Whichever. Before anyone asks, Hermione _has_ forgotten what she foretold, just like Trelawny. A few more important facts about it will be disclosed in the coming sequels, of course.

And the answer to your question about the girls' dorms is in the last chapter, which obviously has not been posted yet. You were supposed to wonder silently about it, darnit. Perhaps I've just put in too many secrets…

Secondly, someone asked about Viennese Waltz and what it looked like, so I put up a bit of information on my LJ for those that want to look. If you're reading this way into the future or are just too lazy to go looking, here it is.

w. livejournal. com/ users/ firegazer/ 17346 .html

Adding the first two 'w's back, of course.

**Chapter 12 – In Confidence**

"If you're not willing to take a risk for something you really care about, you might as well be dead."

-**Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider**

Hermione rushed into the sanctuary behind the wall, gasping and clutching at her forehead, stumbling toward the couch, feeling as though something had torn through her head and left great gouges in it. She fell onto the couch with a strangled sound, burying her face in a pillow.

People were going to die. _Harry_ was going to die. And countless others she knew, though their names had not yet come to her…

"It's not the future," she sobbed. "It's not, it's _not-"_

Hermione hated Divination. Couldn't abide it. Surely the magic wouldn't settle in the soul of someone who abhorred it so.

But what if? What if, what if, what _if…_

She wished Sirius were still there. She so desperately needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust with everything. If he'd just been there, she knew she would have told him anything, everything, even about the timeturner…

But he wasn't there.

So there was really only one other choice.

"Professor McGonnagal," Hermione whispered as she walked up to the teacher's desk, not bothering to hide the tear-streaks on her face, knowing somewhere within her that they would help get her what she needed. "May I – may I have the password to the Headmaster's office? It's somewhat urgent. For- for me, it is."

McGonnagal looked on the verge of asking her what on earth was the matter, but she seemed to realize that Hermione did not want to talk about it – at least to her.

"To the best of my knowledge, it is currently 'disappearing mint'," McGonnagal sighed. As Hermione turned to leave, the woman hesitated once before saying, "You look a bit stressed, Miss Granger. Perhaps you should consider taking a sick day."

Hermione paused, her hand on the door, shoulders slumped. "Do I really look so bad?" she asked. But it was so quiet that she imagined McGonnagal couldn't hear her.

She walked from the room quietly and soon found herself in front of the stone gargoyle Harry had so often described to her.

"Disappearing mint," she said hopefully, wiping at her face with her sleeve.

The statue shifted away to reveal a spiraling staircase, leading up, up, _up_ into the darkness…

She followed it, her hand grazing the metal rail slightly, the gargoyle moving back to cover her entrance and leaving her in a cool, blissful black. A black where nothing could be seen, nothing could be understood, nothing could be ruminated over.

Her hand reached out, though, at the top of the staircase, and stopped at a wooden door. Hermione fumbled for a moment before finding the handle and opening it.

Dumbledore was waiting.

He was always waiting, somehow. She didn't want to know how he knew.

"Please, have a seat," he told her with a serene smile. "Lemon drop?"

Hermione swallowed and sat down heavily, scrubbing at her face, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I- no thank you," she said lamely.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I often find that candy is good for what ails you. Do try one."

She thought about protesting again, but shrugged and took one, popping it into her mouth. The bittersweet taste spread over her tongue, and Hermione found he was right. It was somewhat comforting.

"Now then. You have something to talk to me about?"

She stared at him. "You've already heard, haven't you?" she asked in a quiet, desperate voice. "They're saying I saw something in Divination."

Dumbledore's smile stayed fixed, something to focus on, an unchanging point in her suddenly unstable world. "But there is more to this than just your mishap in Divination, I assume." At her uncomfortable look, he offered her another lemon drop, which she took. "Let me reassure you that anything you say here will be kept in the strictest of confidences. Should you be worried about magical seeing, this office is protected in the most secure way possible. I appreciate it when my pupils speak the truth, Miss Granger. Even if it is only a more complete truth and not the entire truth."

She swallowed. "Then- then I suppose I should say it. I don't remember anything in Divination except looking into the fog. But I do remember other- other _things._ Voices. Visions. I don't know what they are, exactly. But I remember them as though they're memories, when I'm quite certain I could never have lived through them." Just thinking of something, she added, "But I know it's me, because people have called me by name."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "There are many explanations for this. I presume your first fear was that you were going mad." He stated it, did not ask but said as though he were certain.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know what to think anymore. Some of the things seem true. I- I know that-" She dropped her voice, despite the fact that the room was supposedly absolutely secure. "I know that Professor Lupin is a werewolf. I know that Snape has something suspicious on his left arm, and I know that he's an Occlumens."

Dumbledore didn't show any alarm at this information, but something in his eyes did change. "You have, of course, kept this information to yourself," he said quietly. "Entirely to yourself, I mean, Miss Granger."

_He's asking if I've told Ron or Harry_, she thought faintly.

"Yes," she whispered. "Entirely."

Dumbledore's smile was cheerful again. "No harm done, then. Do try not to tell anyone in the future as well. Some of that information is highly sensitive."

Hermione bit her lip. "It's true then?" she asked. "All of it?"

The Headmaster nodded. "Yes, all of it. But that does narrow it down quite a bit. You already have your suspicions, though, don't you? Perhaps you should enlighten me as to your own thoughts on this matter. We often know the answers ourselves, in some form or another."

She thought hard about how she was going to phrase this. "Well… Headmaster… if I have any kind of…" her lip curled unconsciously, "_talent_, in Divination. Wouldn't it make it possible that what I'm seeing is the future?"

"I think you're on the right track," Dumbledore said, the thoughtful look back on his face. "But there is something important missing from that particular puzzle. True Seers cannot remember any of their visions or predictions – furthermore, they do not have visions with the frequency that you say you have. A true prediction also takes quite a bit out of the seer… and I hardly think you would have that kind of energy, especially with your little golden gift from McGonnagal."

Something in Hermione's mind snapped into place then. The timeturner. Of _course._

"That's it!" she said suddenly. "That's _it!_ I- the timeturner- I received a message from myself earlier this year, saying I'd understand because of what McGonnagal gave me. And it was right after that I started seeing things- memories, even though they can't have happened yet!" She stopped, waiting for him to confirm or deny her idea, but Dumbledore clearly expected her to finish first. "I- what if I'm sort of remembering in reverse? I don't know how I would acquire memories from a me that hasn't come to be yet, but what if it were possible somehow?"

Dumbledore did nod, now. "That would make sense, would it not, Miss Granger?"

Her face went white, though. "But Harry-" she whimpered. "Oh- oh, Harry- he's dead- he will be, I mean-"

At this, the smile faded from Dumbledore's face for the first time since she'd been in there. "What can you remember about this?" he asked quietly.

Hermione's lip trembled. "I was trying to get to him- Professor Lupin held me back, he said he was already dead- and there was this man with red eyes standing over him…"

Dumbledore took off his glasses at this point and looked down on the pretense of wiping them on his robes. Hermione looked at him sharply. "You know something about this?" she asked desperately. "Some way to stop it from happening?"

The Headmaster sighed. "Changing time is a very unsteady business. You should know this from the warnings Professor McGonnagal has given you. The fact that you have this memory at all is not promising, as it tends to make me believe the future will happen, or has already happened, as it may be."

Tears pressed against her eyelids, hot and unhappy. Harry was going to die. And she knew about it, and she couldn't do a thing.

_I did it for nothing,_ some foreign part of her was whispering despairingly. _If this is so, all hope is gone._

But-

"You said it's an unsteady business," Hermione said slowly. "But… does that mean it's possible?"

Dumbledore looked up and put back on his glasses, regarding her seriously. "Yes, it can be done. Usually, though, it does not go well. Wizards kill themselves, important sacrifices are sometimes rendered impotent, and in one particularly bad instance, a whole nation was destroyed."

Hermione swallowed. "I think- I think I knew that, though. When I sent back the message, that is." And then, she remembered Dumbledore's voice in her ear…

_"It's a good thing you don't follow rules well, isn't it, Miss Granger?"_

Enlightenment hit her.

"_You_ sent me," she said, amazed.

At _this_ particular point, Dumbledore straightened.

"I do hope not," he said softly, watching her through his half-moon glasses. "Because that means there are very bad times ahead. For I would not do any such thing unless I had run out of options."

She felt her stomach sink horribly, but at least she knew- she knew it could be changed, she knew it was important, she knew she wasn't going mad-

"Have hope, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "If anyone can fix it this time around, it will be you."

Hermione was keenly reminded of Professor McGonnagal's proud face as she offered to mentor her in becoming an Animagus.

"I will try, Headmaster," she whispered. "I'll try my best."

He smiled and patted her hand. "I'm certain you shall." Dumbledore eyed her interestedly. "Was there anything else you wanted me to know? Some information that I must have in order to help you? You may trust me with anything, Miss Granger, anything at all."

At first, she wanted to say nothing. She wanted to retreat to her dormitory and sit on her bed with the curtain closed, and try to reclaim her mind from the whispers and the sinking despair. But then, it occurred to her-

"Sirius Black is innocent," she said firmly.

Hermione sat on her bed, just as she'd envisioned, curtains closed around her, hands clasped shakingly in her lap. She'd betrayed him, told everything about poor Sirius, hoping to god that when Dumbledore said 'anything' he meant it.

_I believe you._

The three golden words. A lot of silly people thought they were something else, but she knew better now. There was a rush of giddiness, a deep-seated hope that had grown in her since Dumbledore had said that. Time could be changed. The future could be rewritten. And Sirius Black could eventually get his pardon, and be free to walk the streets again, because Albus Dumbledore believed him.

She didn't know why Sirius' innocence was so important to her. Not just a distant wish, or a sympathetic understanding, but a driving priority. He had to be pardoned. He had to. Otherwise, he could die, or he could lose his _soul_, and she wasn't sure what she would do if either happened.

So really, she was – what? Done for the day? Not remotely. There was still the matter of confronting Harry and Ron after her strange visions. Because apparently, she really had Seen – at this Hermione would normally have snorted, but times were, unfortunately, changing – and she had a feeling that whatever she'd discovered in that crystal ball would be important later.

Wishing she could put this off, but not daring to, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, pushing the curtain aside with her hand and walking down to dinner.

The Great Hall didn't turn to look in her direction unanimously, but Hermione had the very disquieting feeling of being watched out of the corner of many eyes. She walked uneasily to the Gryffindor table, pretending not to notice. She could _not_, however, ignore the very blatantly curious looks that Harry and Ron were giving her as they gestured to an empty seat between them.

_Wonderful_, Hermione thought desperately. _They're going to bombard me from both sides. I bet they have it all planned out, too-_

"So," Harry said cautiously as Hermione sat down, immediately going for the chicken. "You've quit Divination for good, then?"

Hermione swallowed.

"I- I don't know," she admitted. "I think so."

Ron took up immediately on this point. "But would you really – I mean, when you obviously saw _something_- you know that's loads farther than Harry or me ever got."

Hermione snorted. "It _would_ be sort of hard to see anything on the back of your eyelids, wouldn't it?" she said, taking a spoonful of potatoes. She decided to conveniently ignore the fact that she had, in a way, been doing that herself.

"So – um," Harry interjected intelligently. "You- you really don't remember – _anything?"_

Hermione paused.

"No," she said shortly, lunging for a roll as the basket passed her.

She knew Harry and Ron were exchanging heavy looks behind her. Hermione sighed and tucked a curl irritably behind one ear. "Oh come _on_," she said testily. "It's not like I even saw something important – probably Neville dropping another teacup or something. That's hardly a pressing need to stay in Divination."

A feeling of dread settled over her stomach as Harry and Ron continued to look at her. They were now wearing a furtive expression, the kind worn by someone who doesn't want to tell an awful secret that will just get told anyway.

Harry cleared his throat first – he had always been the braver and (if she admitted it) more tactful of the crew. "Well, actually… you sort of…"

The people around them had grown suspiciously quiet. She suspected they were trying to listen in.

"How about after dinner?" she suggested pointedly, shooting a cool expression toward the others, who immediately busied themselves with their food again.

Harry nodded while Ron looked slightly perplexed but also agreed after a moment.

Hermione left dinner early, after having a slightly strained, overly normal conversation with Harry and Ron, ranging from subjects such as Buckbeak's appeal (still not going well) to how the steak seemed slightly overcooked today. She walked from the hall, forcing herself to be calm, and wondered to herself just how quickly she might be able to get to her commonroom. Possibly fast enough to stay out of range of any nosy people trying to corner her for an explanation she didn't have. Then again, she might have to use her timeturner just once… never a good option.

She was pondering this still when someone grabbed her from behind, throwing a hand over her mouth and drawing her, surprised, into another room. Hermione seemed to recall this happening before – but the hand did not belong to Sirius Black. It was smaller, that of someone her age, and she could feel silk robes behind her. A smell of sharply-pressed clothing and categorically expensive cologne confirmed her unhappy suspicion, and she lashed out, catching her captor in the face and making him curse softly.

Hermione found herself thrown against a wall, arms held at the wrists to keep her from doing any more damage.

"Granger," Malfoy spat, looking angry and off-balance and possibly slightly… afraid?

"Malfoy," she said back, as coolly as she could manage while being manhandled by someone that would just as soon torture her as insult her.

His teeth were gritted, whether from simply touching someone of her impure blood or from something entirely different, she didn't know. He stared at her with cold silver eyes, trying to find something, desperate to find it.

"What did it mean?" he asked in a hiss.

She felt her brow knit in confusion. "What did _what_ mean?" she asked. "The part where I slapped you? I can tell you _that_ easy enough, you arrogant git-"

"What did the dark mark mean!" he said viciously. "The snake and the skull, you stupid girl! What did it _mean_?"

Hermione stared at him. "Look, I really don't know what _you_ mean. Truthfully, and I really shouldn't tell anything of the truth to someone like you, I don't know what a dark mark _is._ So if you'd kindly let me go before I scream rapist…"

And, surprisingly – Malfoy's grip on her slackened, and he let go of her wrists.

"You don't remember," he said, looking at once both horrified and lost, as though the idea hadn't occurred to him. Malfoy ran a furious hand through his hair, messing up its usually impeccable arrangement.

"This is worse than I thought," he muttered to himself, and she found herself too horridly fascinated for the moment to make any attempt to escape. "He'll kill you – no, he'll kill _me_ first, for telling-"

"What on earth are you _talking_ about?" Hermione demanded. "_Who's_ going to be killing me? I'd sort of like to know about something like that!"

Malfoy broke from his mad pacing just long enough to sneer at her. "I don't need to explain _anything_ to a dirty little mudblood like you-"

"You will if you don't want me to tell anyone about this," she hissed at him. "And I see no reason not to so far, because I'm going to have bruises on my wrists."

He paused, his face carefully blank as his mind worked furiously. No doubt he was thinking of how to shut her up – it would never occur to him to actually just tell her the truth. Hermione felt her expression sour as she pulled her wand and pointed it at him.

"Answers," she said quietly. "And don't think you can pull anything on me now. I know how to defend myself perfectly well, and you're without your goons."

Malfoy stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. Not in a good way, either.

"What happened to your booky little miss goody goody routine?" he asked with a twitch of his mouth threatening to turn it into an even deeper frown.

"Lost it with the pressure," Hermione responded automatically. "It's called twelve classes – you know, grades, the thing your father pays for on your behalf." She gestured with her wand. "If you don't want me to experiment with the body twisting hex on you, you're going to tell me something. And believe me, that one can go very, very-"

"-wrong," he finished, still looking at her in displeasure. "How in hell did someone like you get to learn that? That's a sixth year specialty dueling charm."

Hermione inwardly smiled at the fact that he didn't suspect her of bluffing. Well, he did have her pegged, anyway. She _did_ know it, because she'd looked up dueling charms after Sirius had left. In theory, she knew it, just like anyone who had looked up the gesture and the words. Just hadn't used it on a human yet. And hopefully, never would.

Malfoy shook his head, running his hands through it frustratedly again. "Fine. _Fine._ But what I'm about to tell you never leaves this room. I want a confidentiality charm on that. _And_ you can't go telling the wonder twins about your… detainment." He eyed her cautiously. "Do we have a deal, Granger?"

She licked her lips, trying to ascertain his truthfulness. Oh, what she wouldn't do for some illegal Veritaserum right now – and really, that was an extreme thought for her, because it carried a year's sentence in Azkaban just for possession.

"Fine," she ground out, putting out her hand reluctantly and swiping her wand across it, leaving a glowing line of blood.

Malfoy whipped out his own wand then, and she watched him carefully for any signs of a quicker fix (disarming charm would be a better definition). When he simply slit a wound into his palm with a grimace, she took his hand quickly and shook it, face twisting in distaste as his cold hand gripped hers.

Both drew back quickly, as though burned. Not a scar remained from the confidentiality charm.

"Explain," she said immediately, her wand still trained on him. Malfoy's lips twitched once before he put his own wand on a desk beside him, apparently unconcerned by the thought that she might hit him with a spell just for dislike.

"You're a Seer, Granger," he said acidly. "Never would have thought it, from _you_, of all people, but maybe your 'inner eye' got some sort of stimulation." He snorted at this, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes along with him. If there was one thing the houses all agreed on, it was that Trelawny was a phony twit. "They say you saw the dark mark today, trying to get out and bite you. Well let me tell you, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. If the Dark Lord really is coming back anytime soon, he's going to want you for that. True Seers are _very_ hard to come by."

Hermione tried not to look too distressed by this sudden revelation, thinking that he could be lying, he could be setting up a trap-

But.

"The Dark Lord," she whispered, eyes wide. "You don't mean- V-Voldemort." She was proud of being able to say his name with only a little difficulty. It was worth it to see him wince openly, but Malfoy said nothing about her choice of title.

"Yes," he gritted out. "There's only one real Dark Lord left, isn't there, mudblood?"

Her hand convulsed with the urge to smack him, but she knew she would never get anything else out of him that way.

"You just foretold the Dark Lord's rebirth," Malfoy told her with glittering eyes, though he seemed decidedly put out by this news, in some ways. "And he'll want you, mark my words. He tried for a Seer even before he fell the first time. You're doubly at risk because of Potter, and triply because you're a mudblood. You'll be dead within the year, after he gets his use out of you. Possibly worse."

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she listened. Something about this was off…

"Why would you tell me any of this, even under threat of violence?" she asked bitingly. "You've got no reason to care if I live or die, you've made that plain many times."

Malfoy's expression turned distinctly distasteful. "I _don't_ care if you live or die. I care if the Dark Lord returns. I care if I have to go and fight the good fight, possibly lose any chance I might've had at a future, just for the bloody Malfoy pride! I care if that fight draws out, possibly finishes with me having to make some sacrifice for the good of the 'master', just because you didn't have the ruddy sense to go and kill yourself before you got captured." At her distressed look, he rolled his eyes. "See, I knew you wouldn't. Anyway, I don't think I would either, so you needn't worry about your _position_ in my eyes."

Hermione colored, her fingers tightening on her wand. "Firstly," she told him coldly, "I don't _care_ what position I hold in your eyes, and you know it. Secondly, if you were me, I would kill myself in disgust. And thirdly, if it got that bad…" She took a deep breath. "If it got that bad, I think I might."

And then, despite what he had said before, she thought she might have seen a spark of quick – what? respect? – in his eyes. No, not respect, maybe surprise.

Malfoy's lips curled into a sneer then. "Good for you, Granger. It'll rid the world of you, anyway, and I won't even have to lend a hand and go to Azkaban. At least I've accomplished something by giving you my time tonight."

It took more strength of will than Hermione had ever conjured before not to simply blow him off his feet right then and there. But she'd promised, and she was better than him in that she kept her word.

"Do you think you could _possibly_ lay off the insults just for one night?" she said, rolling her eyes in a forced way. "They really do detract from the silence. Anyway, I-" Hermione frowned suddenly.

"Did I say anything else?" she asked, brow knit in confusion.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You described the dark mark, the snake trying to get at you- no, I don't think there was anything else, that was probably the most _important_ part. You know, where the Dark Lord gets reborn and all."

"I _know_ that," she snapped. "You know, you're a lot of help. I probably could've gotten most of that from Harry and Ron, who were _there_, by the way, and I would've gotten the added bonus of getting to actually _hit_ you with something. Honestly, I don't know how people resist from hexing you just entering the room!"

His smirk was getting unbearable, and doubly so as he stood up, throwing his arms wide in a gesture of submission.

"You've got me, Granger, I'm really an awful, incurably evil bastard, just waiting to kill you once I get the chance. It'd be better if you just hit me with your best and got it over with, now wouldn't it?"

She faltered, her wand wavering for a moment. He didn't move.

It was… tempting. Very much so. And like he'd said before, _he_ would take a chance like this in a heartbeat, so why should _she_ hesitate-

No. He wanted her to descend to his level. She'd made a promise and she was _keeping_ it, damnit, even if it killed her!

Hermione tucked her wand back into her robes neatly and passed by him easily. "Sorry," she told him. "I've got better things to do, I'm afraid."

His expression was unreadable, but Hermione could hear a voice (the normal kind) inside her head rejoicing, saying, _A__ hit, a hit, a palpable hit!_

She was halfway out the door when he spoke again, having not moved from his slightly humbling position.

"Wait."

Hermione stopped with a shrug, expecting some kind of snarky insult before she left.

"You… you did say something. I'd almost forgotten, it seemed too strange…"

A feeling of dread swept through her. She'd known, somehow, that there was more, and that it wasn't good…

Malfoy turned around to look at her piercingly. "You said something like… 'it's stuck, it's trying to get out, it's waiting for the rat…'"

Hermione turned sheet white.

"Wh-what?" she whispered, knowing even as she did that she was giving away too much, but that she had to know, _needed_ to know if she'd heard right.

"It's stuck, it's trying to get out, it's waiting for the rat," he repeated, watching her face and seeming to find something interesting as she blanched again. "Not the exact words, probably – I've gotten it from the grapevine, it's never completely accurate. But the rat… now that, I'm sure of."

Hermione swallowed and shook her head quickly. "Look, I- I don't know what that means." A lie. She was awful at lying, he probably saw right through her. "I know we could probably talk about this to each other if we wanted, but I'd suggest we just don't. I won't tell Harry and Ron. Or any of the teachers," she added, keeping true to the spirit of her word but inwardly smirking as Malfoy seemed to realize she'd had the perfect opening to pull a Slytherin-type loophole. "But in return, I don't want you telling anyone you've told me… well, I guess that's sort of superfluous, considering they might kill you for it, isn't it?"

His scowl told her she'd hit the mark.

Then, with a careful expression, concealing the sudden spurt of inspiration she'd just had, Hermione said – "If you find out anything else, I hope you'll tell me. It might… make things easier."

Malfoy looked struck. "You're _networking_, Granger," he said in amazement. "I never would have thought it of you, trying to get a little spy-"

Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "I just want to know if someone thinks my head would look good on a trophy wall, all right?" she told him angrily. "No one wants to go to their death obliviously! Not even mudbloods!"

He smirked at her. "I don't think you need to worry about your head going on any trophy walls. Your hair's atrocious… though your teeth might look like antlers, from far enough back…"

Hermione decided to leave at that point. If he went any further, she'd have to give up her superior resolution not to twist him into a human pretzel.


	14. Full Moon Rising

**Out of Time  
****By Rurouni Star**

Hee. Seems I've decided to make Hermione not know about the dark mark anyway. Oh well, she knows now, doesn't she? =P

**Chapter 13 – Full Moon Rising**

"Events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order the continuous thread of revelation."  
**-Eudora Welty**

Hermione's talk with Ron and Harry was somewhat difficult. Not only was the news disturbing, she had to pretend she hadn't heard it before. She cursed Malfoy mentally for what she knew would not be the last time that year.

Harry was, understandably, very unhappy about the recent development. Voldemort's rebirth, should it happen, was not going to be good for him. Hermione knew that he was inwardly trying to figure out how he might stop it from happening. But what he didn't know was that they'd already as good as let it happen – Pettigrew was gone. Soon, he would find whatever was left of Voldemort, and then…

_Then bad things happen. That's all there is to it._

She found herself wishing even more desperately that Sirius were here, now. He had the map, he had the _map_-

Which, speaking of Sirius, she'd noticed Harry was wearing the locket he'd left behind. She approved, even though she would have normally refused to speak to him for such a dangerous action had she not known a few important extenuating circumstances.

"The thing that confuses me," Harry was saying quietly now, "is what you were saying before."

Hermione blinked. "Before?" she asked.

Ron was looking at him strangely too. "What do you mean, before?" he asked Harry.

The green-eyed boy was looking piercingly at her. "You said something about a person named Pettigrew, and a dead wolf. I honestly thought you might be studying for exams in your sleep or something, but then you made that prediction…" He trailed off grimly.

Ron was looking at her in concern. Hermione knew her face must have been utterly horrified. "Hermione?" he asked tentatively. "Are you – did that mean something-"

What was tonight?

Tonight was… what phase of the moon?

She rushed to the window, pushing aside the curtain, to strange looks from the two boys.

There, hanging in the sky behind a wispy cloud, was a _full moon_… and she suddenly knew with a strange clarity that it would be tonight, and not any other full moon.

"What- where are you _going_, Hermione?" Ron demanded. "What's so important about-"

"Nothing!" she told him hurriedly. "Nothing, I'm just- I have to go to the hospital wing, I'm feeling sick-"

"Hermione!" Harry said. "Hey, _wait!"_

She couldn't wait, though. She had to do something about this – tell Dumbledore- no, by then it would be too late, the moon was already in the sky-

The answer came to her in a rush as she fumbled with the timeturner. She had to get to the Shrieking Shack before Lupin did – because he'd get there just as he was changing, and she had no illusions about being able to take on a fully grown werewolf – but how had _Pettigrew_ managed it? Hermione flipped the hourglass once, twice-

"Hermione, what's going _on?"_ she heard Ron saying.

The world disappeared in a rush – spinning, whirling, people coming and going, sometimes going _through_ her-

_"Miss Granger, you know the law – you know what is at stake… You – must – not – be – seen."_

_"I'm going to lock you in. It is… five minutes to __midnight__. Miss Granger, three turns should do it."_

She stumbled a bit as the timeturner's magic ended abruptly.

Hermione looked around for clues as to her exact time- a grandfather clock near the entrance to the dormitory said five thirty.

_Five thirty__… I'm well before dinner, but it's winter- the sun will set soon… I have time now to talk to Dumbledore-_

She stopped, a hand to her heart.

Because… she couldn't talk to Dumbledore. She hadn't told him anything at all yet, and explaining again would take too long- not to mention she hadn't seen herself in his office…

Hermione chewed nervously on her lip as she ran, trying not to panic. In truth, she'd just made the prediction… Lupin wouldn't get to the shack for at least another hour…

She couldn't tell the teachers. She _definitely_ couldn't tell Harry or Ron. And damn it all, but Sirius was _gone_ right when she could've used his help the most!

A strange and utterly forbidden thought entered her mind then. _She_ could do it. She could get there first. It was a fifty-fifty chance – if Lupin got there first, she could warn him. If Pettigrew did… well. She didn't fancy her chances against him at all. But the fact was there was _no one else._

_Sirius… I don't know where he is. I'll have to owl him, in case… in case the worst happens, I suppose. He'll have to know that he can trust Dumbledore._

Hermione hurried to the owlery, ignoring the strange looks she got from the few students she passed in the hallways. They'd have parchment there… hopefully, he'd accept an owl from her…

She tore into the room in a panic, searching desperately for the stacks of parchment and ink she knew had to be here- there, there on the desk. Hermione raced to the small pile of stationary, pulling a quill from her pocket and dipping it into the ink.

_Sirius-_ she started. Then tore the paper up hurriedly, cursing herself for a fool. These things could be intercepted, and they already suspected someone in the castle was helping him.

_Padfoot,_ she wrote on a new sheet of parchment. _Moony is going to be attacked tonight at the shack, when he's changed. Wormtail is here at Hogwarts. I'll have to try and stop him. If I-_

She paused. How to put this?

_If I don't make it, you can trust Dumbledore._

_-H_

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line as she folded the paper and looked around for an owl trustworthy enough…

"Hedwig!" she said, catching sight of the snowy white owl.

Harry's owl cocked her head at Hermione curiously for a moment before fluttering down toward her. Hermione swallowed, putting forward the parchment tentatively. "Hedwig," she whispered, her hand trembling. "I need you to- to find Sirius Black, and give this to him. I don't know where he is, but it's important, and it needs to be as soon as you can. And… Harry can't know."

Hedwig hooted once, suspicious, but Hermione sniffled unhappily. "It's for his own good, you know. But this- this might be my last request or something similarly silly like that. So… could you please? If I get back, I'll slip you an extra treat…"

The owl seemed to regard her sadly for a moment before nipping her finger gently in an affirmative gesture. Hermione felt something inside her deflate in relief. "Oh thank you, Hedwig, thank you so much!" She tied the letter to the owl's leg and watched for a moment as she beat her wings, rising majestically to the top of the room and through a window, her feathers turning crimson in the setting sun…

Sunset. She had to hurry.

Hermione pulled her wand, rushing out and around the corner, trying to remember how to get to the Whomping Willow – it was near Hagrid's Hut, if she could just catch sight of it-

The thought hit her, as she made it to the outside, gasping, that she might die.

It paralyzed her for a moment – because while she'd suspected it before, it had never been a real concept. Just an abstract idea, something far in the future… her hand went to her timeturner.

_"There will always be things worth dying for," she was saying bitterly, head in her hands. "So Harry died and Fred died- it wasn't worth it to **me**, though, I want them alive-"_

A sob wrenched its way free of her throat, but she somehow forced herself to keep going.

Because they weren't dead yet.

And that wasn't her. Not yet.

So she forced her mind from the subject, instead trying to remember every single curse Sirius had taught her, every dirty trick-

But she could only come up with the proud way he'd looked at her when she managed to knock him off his feet – which one had that been? – and then, the way he'd taken care of her when she'd pushed herself too hard- his wry smiles, and the way he would sometimes let her see the darkness, just a little, because he trusted her…

Hermione nearly tripped as she skidded to a stop, staring at the ball of ginger fur in front of her.

Crookshanks was stretching lazily in front of the tree, eyeing her with a small amount of interest. She found herself unable to move, any words she might have said stuck in her throat.

The cat settled on its front paws, staring at the carefully concealed hole she knew to be below the tree – its tail twitched in anticipation, as though waiting for something… but she realized Crookshanks was trying to tell her something, not waiting…

_He's in there,_ the cat was saying. _He's waiting._

Hermione swallowed, her suspicions confirmed.

"Can you get me in?" she asked her familiar quietly.

And before she could utter another noise – before she could scream in surprise or in fear for her pet's life- Crookshanks was leaping into the tree's range, dodging branches and angry swipes, darting like a squash-nosed panther in to hit something with his paw…

The tree stopped abruptly, and Hermione saw that he was now sitting beside the passage just as lazily as he'd been before, licking at his paw as though he'd done nothing special whatsoever.

She stumbled toward the cat, her heart fluttering desperately beneath her hand. Crookshanks looked at her amusedly, as though to say, _Well__, you asked._

"Very funny," she said. "I- you've been wonderful company. I hope you know that."

The cat arched its back and gave her a warm look (or as warm as a cat ever got) before walking off easily, tail in the air.

She smiled once, achingly. And looked up toward the sky, taking in the stars, the sight of Hogwarts against the horizon…

Hermione looked up to one of the windows, a kind of instinct taking her – for just a moment, she thought she might have seen someone at the window, watching her… but she must have been imagining it, because it was too dark for her to have made out any such thing from here.

Finally, Hermione slipped beneath the tree.

Darkness. The tense darkness where you didn't know what was around the corner, what was right in front of you- Hermione found herself wishing she could turn into a small animal herself. It would have made things so much less frightening, being closer to the ground, more unobtrusive.

She knew the sun was just now dipping below the horizon, sending the world into darkness. That the moon would soon be out, and she would be trapped inside a shack with a werewolf and a mass murderer.

Hermione found herself at the end of the passage then, but she knew what to do. This passage was made by the same people that had created the passage below Honeydukes, if she was correct. She pushed up, heaving against the trapdoor above her. It opened with a slight creak, and she winced as she clambered out. One of her knees picked up a splinter as it scraped against the old wooden floor, but she knew that was the least of her worries at the moment.

Her fingers tightened on her wand as she crept up the staircase inside the Shrieking Shack, trying not to stop and wonder that she was the only student of her time to ever see it. A stair squeaked below her foot, and she gasped, putting a hand over her mouth as she did.

No one seemed to notice, if indeed anyone was there at all, so she continued upward fearfully, wishing she could silence the house's creaking and moaning altogether without being suspicious.

The staircase continued upward – she found herself at a door, soon, closed in front of her but leaking a sickly light from it.

_You could still turn back,_ a traitorous voice inside her said. _As long as you haven't seen anyone, it's still safe to turn back…_

Hermione quashed it with more effort than she would have liked. She knelt down quietly, putting her eye to one of the cracks and looking inside.

The room was empty, which was surprising. She'd seen Lupin there, apparently, and Pettigrew- but neither was there now.

Had she somehow been wrong? Had she really just been daydreaming-

_No,_ something within her said with utter certainty. _It was real, it was tonight. I'll just have to go in and wait- that way I can get Pettigrew as he opens the door…_

She took a deep breath then and pushed it open lightly, hand trembling. A few more steps and she could sit down with her wand pointed at the only entrance…

Something hit her from behind, sending her sprawling into the room. Hermione yelped as an arm closed about her neck, squeezing harshly- she'd dropped her wand, where was it-

_"You!"_ a harsh voice near her ear hissed. "I should have known it would be you, clever little girl."

Hermione felt sick as she grasped numbly for her wand. But it was too far away- she wasn't strong enough to overpower an adult, by any means…

"Let her go, Peter," a hard voice said. "Or I'll finish this now."

She stumbled as the man behind her swept around to hold her in front of him. There was a wand touching her heart now- Hermione looked up with swimming vision to see haggard robes and clear blue eyes…

"Let her go," Lupin said quietly.

Pettigrew was doing some quick thinking behind her, she realized, trying to figure out how to salvage the situation. Meanwhile, her air was getting thin- Hermione coughed, sure her face was turning blue by now, and he reluctantly loosened his grip on her. She gasped in cool air, testing the Animagus' grip on her as she did so.

"Well, well, Moony," Peter said pleasantly, and her face twisted in disgust at his tone of voice. "What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were staying in your office these days."

Lupin's face was pale, she realized, but composed nonetheless. And Hermione's eyes darted to the full moon rising behind him – her teacher seemed to understand her concern, but was pretending nothing was wrong in the least.

"You killed them, Peter," he said quietly, his wand moving upward even as Pettigrew backed away, forcing her higher than himself. "It wasn't Sirius at all, was it?"

Pettigrew, behind her, was thinking quickly. Lupin stepped forward, and his arm on her neck tightened.

"You should have known," Lupin said, looking sad. "You should have known – even as children, we never forgave slights against each other- do you remember what happened to Rosier, Peter, when he destroyed your mother's book?"

Peter stepped back from him, and she felt his fright, his horrified understanding…

"Can you even understand," Lupin said hoarsely. "Can you begin to comprehend what it felt like to have every single person that ever cared about me snatched away at once? I can see why Sirius might have blown up a street to get at you now…"

"He didn't," Hermione choked out, making his glance flit to her. "He faked his own death and left Sirius with the consequences-" a sharp pull against her neck stopped whatever else she might have wanted to say.

Her professor's eyes seemed to soften a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry you had to get caught up in such a childish vendetta, Hermione."

She wanted to tell him it was more than childish – that people had died, that Sirius had gone to Azkaban for it – but she couldn't. She knew he understood it anyway.

Pettigrew was backing away again, watching his old friend with shifting eyes. "You were prefect back then, Remus," he said, sounding slightly whiny, "you can't have imagined being intimidated, powerless – I couldn't take points, I couldn't hurt them back-"

"We did it for you," Lupin said tiredly. "But it doesn't matter anymore. You chose, Peter-"

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Peter's voice cried, before he'd even finished, and she realized too late that he had backed away to grab her wand. Lupin's own went flying into his hand, and he pushed Hermione away from him to point it at the werewolf. _"Stupefy!"_

Lupin staggered back, hit full in the chest, but didn't fall. Hermione remembered then that werewolves had a resistance to most offensive spells- that was bad, as well, it meant that he was very close to changing, for that to manifest-

_"Stupefy!" _Peter shouted again. _"Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy-"_ Hermione leapt at him desperately, grabbing for her wand. He struggled with her for a moment, and she saw that Lupin had collapsed across from him – and was now changing, twisting –

Pettigrew threw her away finally, against the wall. Hermione felt her head crack against it, a sharp pain shooting through it as he advanced, eyes glittering. "You _were_ helping him. Thought you were incredibly smart, fooling the rat, didn't you? I wonder what Sirius will do when he finds you eviscerated- won't think me so weak then, will he-"

"You can't," she said hoarsely, frightened despite her former resolution, and trying desperately to gain a single glance of Lupin, worried. "You can't, because Voldemort will want me, and you know it."

"Why would the Dark Lord want an ugly little mudblood like you?" Peter asked, and she realized he hadn't heard the prophecy yet. Probably a good thing, in retrospect. "Even if he does, for some reason," he said with an eerie smile. "He'll be happy enough with me for bringing him back…"

Hermione swallowed, staring at him with a fear that didn't need to be manufactured, but watching Lupin's now still wolf form out of the corner of her eye. No, he wasn't moving – why wasn't he moving, he was alive, wasn't he-

"Moony won't be joining us any time soon," Pettigrew said quietly, as though reading her mind. "Spells fired before the change still have enough effect- he'll be out for hours… tell me, have you ever tasted an Unforgivable…"

Hermione stared at him in horror, openly looking about for any escape, any kind of help at all-

_"Crucio!"_ the man cried, pointing the wand at her, and Hermione felt herself tear open – she was being pulled apart, slowly, and he was going to kill her, but it didn't matter compared to the _pain-_

It stopped without warning, but she realized she'd curled herself into a ball, shuddering and screaming.

"Oh don't worry," Pettigrew said with a high laugh. "No one will think anything of your screams – you see, this place is supposed to be haunted…"

Hermione strained to get hold of herself, but her mind was slipping every time she tried to grasp at it, she couldn't _think-_

"Come to think of it," he whispered to himself, "I could so easily send you back for your little friends… yes. Yes, why not? Another one of those and you won't be able to resist at all… _Crucio!"_

She bit down on her lip this time as the pain spread through her. If he thought she were unconscious, he would have to come near- she could grab a wand, then, and once she had one, she might be able to outmatch him with a few surprises…

But her ruse was becoming reality now, as the pain began to send her mind into a blank, black state. She had to stay awake… had to get a wand…

Hermione felt herself falling, felt her awareness rushing away from her…

But the pain stopped. She heard something at the edge of her hearing – a yell and a bang, the thud of someone falling to the floor. Footsteps rushing toward her-

"Hermione!" a panicked voice said. "Hermione, please be alive, please-" A hand on her neck, checking for a pulse. "Oh god, Hermione…"

She coughed weakly. "Sirius- you-" Her words choked off as she was enveloped in a desperately tight hug.

"What on earth possessed you to- what were you _thinking-_ this is the exact thing I told you _not_ to do-"

"Lupin," she managed, her vision blurry. "Is he-"

"Alive," Sirius responded. "Yes. We're going to have to leave before he wakes up, though, or you might get bitten…"

"And Peter?" Hermione asked.

His grip on her tightened, and she struggled to escape his arms, the blood rushing to her head. "What about him?" she asked. "What happened?"

Sirius held her down. "He's gone," the black-haired man spat. "He changed into a rat and got away, but not before I took the wands and hit him… he'll not be bothering us for a long while."

She let out a cry of panic. "No- no, you don't understand, we have to go after him-"

"_You_ don't have to do anything but get up to the hospital wing," he told her, picking her up and throwing her over a shoulder. "Peter won't be doing anything at all for a long time."

Hermione struggled, eyes wide. "You can't- people will see you, are you _mad-"_

Sirius picked something up from the floor, though. The invisibility cloak. "I can extend it temporarily, I think, once we get out of here," he muttered at her. "I've been experimenting with it…"

Hermione closed her gaping mouth quickly. "But you don't understand," she said desperately, her head still spinning hopelessly. "The crystal ball- he's going to bring him back-" Her breath was becoming short, and the back of her head was throbbing awfully… Sirius was very calmly ignoring her as he closed the door behind him, locking it with his own wand (where he'd gotten it, she still didn't know) and stepping cautiously down the stairs.

"Don't talk," he said quietly. "You're going to fall unconscious before I get you there, and it seems like you've gotten yourself a concussion…"

Her vision wavered as she twisted her head to try and look at him – but all she could see was the back of his head, his hair brushing across her cheek… "I'm trying," she murmured. "But the rat…"

"Don't worry about him," Sirius said reassuringly, seemingly unaware of the significance. "He's long gone, there's no way we'd be able to find him. Besides which, you're in absolutely no condition to be left alone while I go off after revenge."

She stared ahead hazily, not able to see him. "You're not, then?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course not," he said pleasantly, though there was an edge to his voice now, barely detectable. "You are, for the moment, much more important."

And even as she felt a part of her shuddering at these words – the _doom_, the foreshadowing inherent in them – another part of her was feeling oddly warm. Giddy, almost.

"Oh," she managed – before her eyes finally closed, and she thought no more.


	15. Looking Back

**Out of Time  
****By Rurouni Star**

My friend Miranda wishes it to be known that she was the inspiration for Hermione's hazily insistent apology. However, I am not allowed to discuss the incident this came from as I was told very pointedly that it never happened, so no one will ever know why.

**Chapter 14 – Looking Back**

"... we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless."  
**-Paul Bowles**

Someone had put a cool cloth on her forehead – Hermione knew this not because she could feel anything at all, but because her hair seemed wet where it was being smoothed back.

"Where-" she croaked.

"Shh," came Sirius' slightly amused and slightly concerned voice. "I'm not really supposed to be here."

She wanted to get up and tell him to leave immediately, before someone saw him, but truthfully her limbs felt leaden, and she felt somehow that she would tremble uncontrollably if she actually tried to put them through any meaningful effort.

So instead, she closed her eyes and smiled faintly at his comforting ministrations. "Where were you?" she asked tiredly, feeling a heavy burden on her soul lift as she realized for the first time that he was back and safe and perfectly fine.

"I was still in the castle," he said ruefully. "I just… didn't want you to get in trouble. You'd already done so much on my behalf… I rather hoped Pettigrew might think I'd left as well, and follow me before I could give him away or some such silly thing. He'd begun to suspect you, I think."

Hermione frowned slightly. "I don't understand… what happened? Why was I the first to get to the willow, I'm supposed to have seen Professor Lupin there first…it was in with the other vision, you know about it, don't you?"

She couldn't see him – couldn't manage the effort to open her eyelids – but she somehow knew he was frowning deeply. "Well I'd guess you've just had your first experience with self-fulfilling prophecies. It's just a guess, mind you – but I would surmise that dear old _Wormtail_" he spoke the name acidly, "-was hiding out in the shack. Moony will have seen you enter after him and followed." Hermione winced at the sudden thought that Lupin would _definitely_ be asking for an explanation soon.

"Don't worry," Sirius told her in a strangely protective voice. "Dumbledore and I will get it straightened out with him. You won't have to say a word."

Hermione heaved a heavy breath. "Pettigrew is going to resurrect V- Voldemort," she managed. "Don't you know that?"

Sirius was frowning again, his hand still at her forehead. "I knew it before I came to find you," he said quietly. "But there was nothing any of us could have done anyway. He had his escape plan figured out long ago – probably had a little rat hole all ready and everything."

Hermione checked her surprise at this and tried desperately to relax her muscles so that they would stop their infernal twitches. "I wish I could've gotten a spell off at him," she murmured. "I would've used that body twisting spell…"

Sirius chuckled. "I don't doubt it." But then, his hand moved to grasp hers tightly, and he moved to look down at her. "You're not going after him," he said seriously. "Peter Pettigrew is _my_ problem. He always has been. I don't want- I don't want to find you in a worse condition next time."

She shuddered as she thought of the threats he'd made… "You heard the – ah – disembowelment part?" she asked in a small voice.

A growl escaped his throat, reminding her of a certain heavy-set black dog. "No," he said in a low voice filled with fury. "I'll disembowel _him-"_

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "If I'd thought there were any other way- I hadn't told Dumbledore yet, you see, so I couldn't- um, that is-"

"I know all about the timeturner," Sirius said shortly, tiredly. "How else do you think you kept waking up before class?"

Hermione felt her face tint pink. "You- you _didn't!_ That's completely against the rules-"

"Yes, well, I'm sort of an escaped prisoner. I don't think the rules apply to me in the usual sense. Besides, you weren't going to be doing anyone good running yourself absolutely ragged."

"Is that the official excuse?" she asked, bemused.

"Certainly," he said. "If McGonnagal somehow finds out, you can tell her that her favorite ex-student made it up."

Hermione smiled gently. She wasn't feeling particularly good at the moment, but at the same time she found herself wishing time could stop, just like this. She was strangely happy, where she was.

"Thank you," she told him, meaning it in every way possible.

And then, in a gesture of friendship she found completely surprising, Sirius Black pressed his lips to her forehead. "Think nothing of it," he said. Then- "What would I do without my little brainy fourth year, anyway?"

Hermione opened her eyes at this, and found herself momentarily caught by his mischievously sparkling grey eyes. "What do you mean, fourth year?" she asked.

Sirius grinned. "You _are_ coming back next year, I should hope. I'm going to need you to sneak food to me during the times I'm here."

She felt an inexplicable surge of happiness at this. "Of course," she breathed.

"Come down and visit me before exams," he told her with a wink. "We'll be completely irresponsible and stay up late the night before, drinking butterbeer."

Hermione giggled, feeling absolutely childish. "You mean _you'll_ drink butterbeer and _I'll_ study."

He shrugged. "As long as it's one of us, it shouldn't matter all that much. Now get some sleep – you're going to have to pop on back in time in the morning, because Harry and Ron will be utterly beside themselves otherwise."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not _that_ tired-"

_"Mitte,"_ he murmured, tapping her forehead with his wand.

Hermione felt her consciousness receding. "Unfair," she accused vaguely as she fell into sleep…

000000

"Hermione, what's going _on?"_

She walked calmly up to Ron and smiled.

"False alarm," Hermione said brightly, tucking her timeturner into her shirt unobtrusively.

_"Oh come on, Hermione, don't you want to do anything but read?"_

"No," she muttered to herself, slightly irritated at the voice but determined to ignore it until it told her something important again.

"But you- you were-"

"Harry," she said quietly, passing him by. "This is, um, one of those things we talked about. The ones where you don't ask me and I don't lie."

He looked at her grimly, but nodded.

"Wait, what are you-"

"Let's go get some food from the kitchens, Ron," Harry interrupted with a suddenly energetic demeanor. "I know just the way, too…"

Hermione went up to her dormitory, looking out the window toward the Whomping Willow and waiting, a sick kind of fascination taking her as she saw her cat sitting calmly in front of the tree. For a moment, she thought he looked up at her interestedly – she nodded back glumly, but he was now ignoring her.

Nothing happened for quite a while. She began to wonder if, by some maniacal twist, the other Hermione would not come bursting out of the castle, trying to get to the tree and stop a horrible incident from happening, only to make it happen herself. Wouldn't that be interesting-

But no. There she was, moving furtively, stopping in front of a tense Crookshanks. The cat was darting forward to hit the knot in the tree now – from here it didn't look nearly as bad, she could tell he had enough practice that it was ridiculously easy – and now there she was, slipping downward and-

And looking up at herself in confusion.

And being swallowed up by the tree.

Hermione blinked once, shaking her head and rubbing at her temples. So strange, the complexities of time. She really wanted to believe that she was changing things – that this really hadn't happened at all before – but she couldn't know. She really couldn't.

She was still shaking slightly, but she wasn't certain of the cause. It could have been her exposure to the _Cruciatus._ But it could have just as easily been the strange happiness, just lying there and feeling the strangest feeling – that she was cared about, that someone had her well-being not only in mind, but also as a top priority. She wasn't used to it, would never be, no matter how many times Harry or Ron or Sirius reinforced it.

A moving figure caught her eye then – Lupin, striding determinedly across the grounds, wand out and ready. _Crookshanks_ was leading him.

_What?_

But then it made sense, and she almost ran down to the bottom floor to scoop up her cat and hug it tightly to her chest. Crookshanks had somehow known to go and get help, just as he knew she was going in to kill the rat-wizard he had been chasing for so long.

Hermione decided she would never, ever get an owl. She loved her cat too much. Crookshanks was getting an extra bowl of cream when he got back.

She almost left the window then, but remembered belatedly that Sirius was still to come. She owed it to him to watch, to understand…

It took less time than she remembered. Possibly because she'd been being tortured during that time.

A figure was dashing toward the tree from the entryway of the castle, note clutched in his hand. Hermione winced as she realized he was in human form, the cloak billowing out behind him and doing almost nothing to obscure him. A branch of the willow caught him across the shoulder as he leapt toward it and she hissed in her breath. He hadn't mentioned _that-_

But Sirius Black was slipping in as well, going in after her.

She bit her lip, knowing that somewhere, a long way away in Hogsmeade, there was screaming coming from the Shrieking Shack.

It seemed she waited an eternity this time, longer than she'd waited for anything else. What if something went wrong this time (impossible, but oh-so-possible to a panicked mind) or what if someone else got hurt while Peter tried to escape?

_Peter! I could stop him- we never saw as he escaped-_

But just as she was wondering whether she ought to go down and catch him (stupid, she would later reflect to herself) a tiny shape darted out from the tree, running full tilt across the moonlit grass and disappearing from view… into the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione gritted her teeth and wished time travel were more black and white. Fix the bad stuff, keep the good. But no, it would never be like that.

And now – now there was a figure climbing out from beneath the tree, one foot holding down the knot that incapacitated it. Hermione watched in surprise as she saw herself, thrown over Sirius' shoulder – had she really looked that _awful?_ – pale and shaking and now unconscious.

She couldn't hear anything from the window, but she could see very well Sirius' panic. He was letting her to the ground gently, shaking her, trying to get her to talk to him. Hermione felt a strangely forbidden impulse to eavesdrop take her – he wouldn't be thinking about protective wards at the moment, she could very easily cast the spell-

Before the decent part of her could kick in, Hermione performed the charm. Almost immediately, a hoarse, pleading voice reached her ears, and she recoiled.

"-Hermione, come on, _say_ something, for the love of god-" He was burying his face in her hair, shoulders shaking- was he _crying?-_ and Hermione felt sick at the thought that not only had she caused the situation, she was listening in on something painfully private. It was one thing to know that (almost) everything had turned out all right, but another thing entirely to relive it and see what it had cost.

She wanted so very desperately to tell him she was sorry. To apologize in any way she could. But he wasn't in any position for her to do so – the Sirius she wanted to tell was both the person outside and the person that had not yet come to be; the one that stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and promised to drink butterbeer with her before exams. And now, it made a kind of sense. He had probably been promising himself just then that he would do those things, if only she didn't die- __

_Like Harry. Exactly like Harry._

The vision of a blankly staring boy in large glasses had not left her for quite some time. At that moment, Hermione found she couldn't help but compare it to the scene before her.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, tears running down her cheeks, wishing irrationally that the man below could hear her. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"M'sorry, Sirius," her own voice was saying hazily, and she stiffened – she didn't _remember_ that, she'd thought she'd just blacked out the whole time…

He was trying to catch his breath, obviously relieved. "Don't talk, I'll get you up to Madam Pomfrey-" Sirius was reaching for the extended cloak, no hint of his distress coming through in his voice now.

"No, I'm _sorry_," she repeated emphatically in a trembling, almost drunken voice. "Sirius-"

"It's not important now," he told her sharply, his voice dangerously close to breaking. "We'll talk later, just be still." He threw the cloak over them both, and Hermione, at the window, put a shaking hand to her mouth. She stumbled backward and barely managed to cast the counter spell before making her way uncertainly to her bed, shaking as violently as she had been when he carried her back inside.

She wanted to sleep. She wanted to find oblivion and not think anything of this until morning, when she would be caught up and able to do something about it. The waiting scared her more than anything else.

But Hermione couldn't sleep, couldn't even close her eyes without seeing his concerned eyes looking down at her.

Lord, she'd really screwed up this time. Why hadn't she listened, when they said not to change anything? If she hadn't gone, Wormtail wouldn't have escaped, Remus wouldn't be hurt, Sirius wouldn't have- wouldn't have gone through all of that…

_No,_ a strange part of her thought fiercely. _I did what I thought was the right thing at the time, and I can't second-guess myself now. Why should I have left Professor Lupin to die, if I thought he would?_

But still… Sirius' pained voice wouldn't leave her alone.

000000

Classes were incredibly hard to get through the next day. Hermione found herself aching in an almost physical way to go to Sirius in the hospital wing and get the apology off her chest; but it would hardly do to be in the same room with herself, especially as she'd already broken one time traveling law to great consequence.

She'd checked the time before she'd left, though – twelve thirty.

So it was that Hermione watched the second period Arithmancy clock desperately, one foot tapping unhappily against her desk as she chewed at her lip.

Noon.

Close but not there.

"…and so this equation, when used in conjunction with the First Theorem of Angle-Birthday Relationships, should tell you your coefficient. It's very important that this be correct, for reasons I shouldn't have to explain."

She barely felt the twinge of regret that she'd not heard her teacher; normally this would frighten her, but at the moment, all she could do was stare at the clock and worry.

Time passed agonizingly. Hermione licked her lips as the second hand ticked its way around the face of numbers… numbers, she was in Arithmancy, wasn't she? Yes, that seemed right.

"I'll be wanting you to thoroughly understand chapter twenty six for the test next time, so your homework is to study it. That's it for today – now off to lunch with you."

Lunch. Twelve thirty.

Hermione rose in a daze, turning to leave. A part of her had suddenly realized just what it was she was going to do, and quailed in fright even as her feet moved of their own accord.

She was going to truly face him for the first time since he'd saved her – there was no facing up to the consequences while she was half unconscious, and watching him from a window hardly counted as a conversation. But this time…

She found herself in front of the infirmary door, fingers curled into a loose fist, prepared to knock.

Hermione paused, swallowing, and sat down heavily right in front of it.

She set her head back against the door and put a hand to her forehead. She knew, she _knew_ she couldn't do this. Going to her death had seemed easier by comparison. A shudder went through her, and she clutched at her knees, feeling her body huddle against the door…

"-something you're not telling me, something she told you, Dumbledore."

Hermione stifled a gasp of surprise at hearing Sirius' voice, putting her hand over her mouth. She knew instantly what he was talking about – the voices and the possibility of the stolen memories…

"Miss Granger is entitled to a few secrets, just as we all are, Mr. Black." Hermione could imagine his eyes twinkling in amusement as he spoke.

"If it's a secret that will hurt her is what I'm concerned about," Sirius ground out. "If she'd succeeded in keeping the timeturner from me, like she tried to do, we'd all be in much worse shape-"

"She was instructed to keep the timeturner a secret, as you know. Neither of her two friends know of it, nor will she tell them if I am any judge of character."

"Then this isn't a secret she's been told to keep," stated Sirius flatly.

"Not all secrets must be kept merely on others' behalf. She is a sensible girl – let me assure you that she will tell you should the need arise. Neither should you feel affronted that she has divulged this to me; it was needful in order to confirm your own innocence." Dumbledore paused. "I must ask you, however, not to pester the poor girl. She has already been through quite enough this year."

There was another pause, this time on both sides, before Sirius sighed. "Damn you. You would have to put me on a guilt trip, wouldn't you? You're just like that bastard Nigellus…"

Hermione felt her eyebrows raise at his language, but Sirius was either too tired to properly respect Dumbledore at this point, or he just didn't care.

She began to feel guilty about her intrusion, though – this wasn't something she was supposed to have overheard. Hermione ignored the rush of relief she felt as she decided she would have to come back down later and apologize… in the meantime, she thought vaguely that she might go to lunch for the first time in weeks.

000000

Lupin was not in class that day. It shouldn't have surprised her, but Hermione found that a tightening that had formed in her chest loosened as she saw Snape's coldly burning eyes behind the werewolf's desk.

She played with the timeturner absently as the class went on, wondering about its significance. She'd realized, of course, that it had much to do with the situation… but just how much was up for debate. If she got rid of it… would the voices stop?

_"Hermione…"_ It was Sirius, in a warmly amused voice. _"You mean to say you never did any of the stupid things Harry and Ron got up to? No alcohol at all?"_

Hermione turned pink in indignance. He made it sound as though it were a bad thing.

Classes finished for the day, but she found that she really couldn't bring herself to go see him. Her head felt like it had been crammed full of information, of something at the very least, and had to sort itself out. So instead, she went to sleep.

And then…

_"Mudblood!__ Filth! Desecrator of my house, get gone!"_

_Stumbling back, surprised, wide-eyed, **frightened**- _

_"Would you **shut up?"** Sirius' voice? Why-_

Hermione woke up with a jolt, breathing hard. The fright was still in her, and the pain, somehow having pierced her to the heart. She clutched at it with wide eyes, staring ahead into the night.

Nightmares. She didn't need nightmares, not when she was already so short on sleep…

She remembered then that she hadn't done a thing about apologizing appropriately yet, and sighed as she slipped from beneath the covers to pull on a sweater over her flannel nightclothes. She tip-toed down through the dorm room and down the stairs, then murmured a soft 'sorry' as she opened the fat-lady's portrait.

The weight of the timeturner reminded her that she needn't sneak around like this, but she ignored it. The thing seemed to have a life of its own sometimes, and she didn't like the feeling.

The relief she felt at not being caught vaporized as she slipped through the corner of the two walls. The scent of alcohol reached her nose, and Hermione's nose wrinkled.

"Sirius," she said, catching sight of his hunched figure sitting on the couch. "What are you _doing?"_

He blinked once, slowly, then glanced her way. Sirius raised a bottle at her, then, in salute. "Getting myself thoroughly drunk. I thought that would be obvious."

Hermione frowned deeply and walked over to him – then jerked the bottle out of his hand and made a quick count of the number on the floor already. Only two. Not too bad (hopefully – she didn't have much experience in these matters).

"Why are you getting yourself drunk?" she asked him exasperatedly, checking to make sure he wasn't about to pass out or any such thing.

"Because," he said, frowning at the bottle in her hand and jerking it back from her quickly. "I've just had the worst scare of my life. People tend to drink when that happens." He took a swig and let himself fall back against the couch.

Hermione's lips tightened as she jerked at the bottle again. Sirius kept hold of it this time, though, and she found herself in a struggle over it. "I had the scare of my life too," she snapped, putting one foot against the couch to pull. "And if you haven't noticed, I'm not getting myself drunk!"

Sirius pulled once more, and she let out a squeak as he managed to get the bottle from her, sending her sprawling on the other end of the couch. He drank a long gulp from it.

She eyed him unhappily. This wasn't going at all as planned.

She could always wait until he passed out to destroy all of the alcohol (though she wasn't entirely sure what was actually in it). But that wasn't exactly preferable. And Sirius, for one, didn't look as though he were going to listen to her reason.

An idea hit her, then, and Hermione moved across to the other side of the table, picking up an unopened bottle and pulling the cap off with effort. There was a hiss of air, and a bit sloshed onto her. Sirius didn't seem to have noticed her yet, so she took the bottle bravely to her mouth and threw a bit back exaggeratedly.

The bottle slammed back onto the table as she gagged on it, coughing. "This stuff is vile!" she told him. "Why on earth would you drink it?"

Sirius blinked in surprise, looking at her. He snatched the bottle from in front of her then, eyes wide. "You- you're not supposed to be drinking, at your age-"

Hermione snorted. "No one's supposed to be drinking at their age, in my opinion." Nevertheless, she grabbed another bottle and opened it, watching him as she did so. "I'm going to be matching you drink for drink, Sirius. I do hope you stop soon, though – whatever's in here is disgusting."

He goggled at her comically for a moment, before shaking his head to clear it. "You can't, Hermione – I'm at least double your weight, you'd _die_ most likely-"

"Yes, well." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "At least you're still sober enough to understand that. Are you up to talking?"

Sirius sighed and put his head in his hands. "What did I do to deserve this?" he lamented into his hands, muffled. "It's not like I'm asking much, to get myself sloshed and forget…"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the guilty pang inside her. "Look, I- I came down here to apologize about that…"

He looked up, but didn't sit up again. "You did. You can leave now."

Hermione frowned. "I mean really apologize. I know it was a stupid thing to do – I knew it as I was doing it, actually – but I didn't feel there was any other way, and there wasn't much time to think about it."

Sirius slouched backward onto the arm of the couch, eyeing her darkly and evaluating the bottle in his hand as though he were wondering if he could drink it without her noticing. "Moony would've rather it'd been him, if it'd been true in the first place," he told her. "Told me he thinks very highly of you, good student, reminds you a bit of him – but it's not just that, he'd rather it be him than any of the students. And I agree – that I'd rather it be me, in any case."

Hermione scowled at him, feeling somehow condescended to. "And what do you think I was going to do?" she demanded. "Leave him there, when I thought I might do something? Let me tell you, you're not the only one that can be high-minded or whatever you want to call it. I'd rather it be _me_, you dolt!"

Sirius blinked at her, as though realizing for the first time that she might think like a human being too – then shook his head and groaned, raising the bottle to his lips. Hermione mirrored him quickly, though, and he set it down with a thud.

"Would you stop doing that?" he asked her exasperatedly. "Why should you care if I drink anyway?"

Hermione frowned. "Because it's bad for you, and it doesn't help anything. Besides which, if you decided to leave like this, you'd be liable to get yourself caught. I didn't do all of this for that to happen."

Sirius was quiet for a moment, and she felt she'd finally gotten through to him. Her hope was confirmed as he pushed the drink away. "I thought you were dead," he said quietly.

She dropped her gaze to the floor. "It- it's not something I didn't anticipate," she said, but her voice was unsure.

"No one anticipates their own death!" he snapped, running his fingers through his hair raggedly. "It shouldn't have happened. I should have been there!"

Hermione winced. "That's not your fault-"

"It is," he cut her off. "If I hadn't left, if I'd trusted you a bit more… I made mistakes-"

"And everyone makes mistakes!" she said, feeling slightly frustrated. "I made a mistake in thinking I had to save Professor Lupin, when it turned out he had to save me! I made a mistake in not telling Dumbledore sooner! I made loads of mistakes, so why can't we just say it cancels out and leave it at that?"

Sirius wiped at his face with his hands uncertainly. "You make it sound so simple," he muttered. "It's not. If you'd seen you, the way you were just as I got there…"

Hermione swallowed – then quickly vanished the remaining drinks before he could get any ideas. "I'm sure I don't know what it's like," she admitted, but her mind drifted back to the sight she'd had of Harry, unmoving, in the middle of the Quidditch field… "But I can't second guess myself now."

Sirius was staring at her with a haunted expression now. "You looked just like them," he murmured, probably not intending her to hear. But it sent a chill through her, because she knew somehow what he was talking about. Lily and James, still as death…

And he suddenly looked so alone and tired that she found herself moving, getting up to put her arms around him comfortingly. As strange and embarrassing as it was, though, Hermione knew it was the right thing to do when he relaxed slightly.

"Can you forgive me, then?" she asked him.

He shook his head wearily. "You were never the one that needed forgiveness. And I won't even ask for it."

She frowned at him. "You've got it anyway then. And don't we just sound like we're trying to open a door for each other? It's probably utterly sickening."

Sirius laughed, and she felt a warmth spread through her as she realized she was the one solely responsible for it.


	16. Exams

**Out of Time  
****By Rurouni Star**

Before anyone panics – no, this is not the end of everything. There's obviously going to be a sequel, which I am currently working on. Unfortunately, it will probably be a while until it goes up – I'm not as started on it as I'd like to be.

**Chapter 15 – Exams  
**  
"Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death."  
**-Elizabeth Forsythe Hailey**

Final exams were physically and mentally exhausting. But, as promised, Hermione came down to see Sirius the night before the first of them and practiced. He even managed to shove a butterbeer at her, and she took it with reluctance as she tried to practice her transfiguration on different objects in the room. It didn't help that Sirius would constantly and knowingly show her up with ease. 

"Would you stop that?" she asked him, annoyed, as he swayed his wand lazily and turned the chair into a brown-spotted goat.

Sirius shrugged. "Just trying to help," he said as the goat turned to bite at her untucked shirt interestedly.

"Your technique is absolutely horrendous," she muttered with a frown. "I don't see how you manage such perfect results…"

He grinned. "The furniture likes me, what can I say?"

Her goat confirmed his theory as it walked over to bite at his hand in what looked to be an affectionate attempt. Sirius yelped and she snickered to herself as he tried to hurriedly fix it back to its original shape.

Hermione's exams during the next few days went fairly well. Her cheering charm was superb (best in the class, Flitwick told her in secret) and her History of Magic final essay was feet longer than anyone else's – probably the only one with any amount of true information on it, as well, though Harry seemed to know his own share of witch-hunt trivia.

No, the problem came in her one of her last exams. Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She was, for the first time, late for an exam. This because she really didn't want to see Lupin that badly. Ron and Harry looked at her askance as she entered the room, then gestured to her to follow as they fell into ranks with the class, walking outside in a line.

"We've got an obstacle course," Harry told her in a hushed voice.

"Lupin said it'd have all kinds of things we've been studying all year," Ron added. "But nothing that requires herbs to get past or anything like that. You have to shoot up red sparks if you're in trouble."

Hermione felt a part of her tense as she watched their professor's back warily. She barely heard Ron and Harry's suggestions as to what might be in the course, or even their hurried reviews of charms to repel grindylows and boggarts.

What if Lupin resented her for lying to him? Worse, what if he thought she was a nosy, empty-headed idiot for trying to get into the Shrieking Shack? She'd put him in danger – put everyone in danger–

"First up," Lupin's voice called. "Adrians!"

Hermione stopped, watching as the boy walked tremulously up to the magically erected stone walls – a circular path around to the beginning again, no maze, no detours. She could already hear the hum of the hinkypunk and its lantern…

And then, before she knew it, red sparks shot up from half way through the maze. Lupin disappeared inside, and reappeared a moment later, dragging the poor boy behind him, waterlogged.

"Cantory!"

A blonde girl she seemed to recognize from throughout the year stepped forward then, and the names began to blur together. The grades varied from fairly low to nearly perfect – surprisingly, Neville came out grinning, and Lupin smiled back at him as he checked his name off with a mark.

His smile turned to a faint frown as he consulted his list. "Ah, I'm sorry – it seems you should've been just before Neville, Hermione. If you would go ahead and try now…"

She blinked, realizing dimly that it was her turn as she walked slowly up to the obstacle course, as though in a daze.

"Three," Lupin's soft voice came. "Two. One."

Perhaps he told her to go. She wasn't sure. But she was now walking through knee-deep water, wishing they'd thought to teach them the water-walking charm in third year. Thankfully, it wasn't cold – it was warmed in the midday sun, and was only slightly uncomfortable. She _did_ know drying charms, she could do one at the end…

Hermione stifled a scream as something surprised her from behind, grabbing at her ankle with a hiss. Grindylow, her mind supplied, as she turned to face it, fumbling for her wand (why hadn't she had it out, damn it?). A few of its fingers were missing – apparently some students had already taken that way out. Hermione brought her wand to bear, ignoring the pain that was quickly gathering where its fingers dug in.

"Relashio!" she cried, sending scalding sparks from her wand. It pulled back, its taut features snarling as it dove back into the water, assumedly to wait for its next prey.

Hermione trudged onward, feeling a slight stinging sensation where its fingers had once been. She hoped she wasn't bleeding. This water had to be absolutely filthy.

A light caught her senses next, as she'd expected. Hermione pointedly ignored it, trudging onward and putting her hands over her ears to keep the hinkypunk from persuading her to follow it. It wavered in front of her face with a slight scowl – and at some point began to shove its lantern into her face insistently – but Hermione stunned it reluctantly at this and left it behind her. Mostly routine. Not anything to worry overly about.

It was then that she came to the wardrobe – and stopped.

Hermione watched, entranced, as it twitched a little, as though knowing she were there. A boggart, that was why Neville had been so cheerful-

Well, it wasn't as though she hadn't handled one before. Certainly she could manage it now.

She hesitated only a moment before moving her hand to the wardrobe and pulling it open.

A figure moved inside, shifted in the shadows. It moved fluidly into the light the next moment, the darkness cringing back at the light that spilled upon its features…

Hermione's eyes widened, and she stumbled back, mouth open. Her ankle caught on something; she tripped backward into the muck, her wand disappearing into the swampy mush.

The woman's hair was a light chestnut, hanging limply in front of her brown eyes. There were lines in her face that told much of the agony she'd endured. She wore Gryffindor robes, though – and there was a pin, a silver pin on them, that had the Head Girl emblem engraved upon it…

She looked down at Hermione, and the corners of her lips turned upward sadly, despairingly.

"You can't do it," she told her. "No one can. They're going to die."

Hermione looked up at herself with a silently working mouth, without so much as the presence of mind to find her wand.

"Didn't you hear me?" her older self demanded, sweeping down on her to pull her up by her collar, looking into her eyes with a maddened, grief-stricken stare. "They're going to die, and it's all your fault! If you had tried harder – no, you haven't tried yet, but you won't- they'd be alive, don't you understand-"

"They won't!" Hermione gasped. "No, no, it won't happen- I won't let it-"

"It already has!" the other Hermione wailed. "It has, Harry dies, Fred dies – and you let them, even though you know-"

"Shut up!" Hermione gasped. "Shut up, I'll try harder, I won't let it-"

"You don't have a choice!" the woman told her. "You never did! It just happens, over and over and over and _over-"_

Hermione wrenched herself from her grasp, stumbling backward to feel for her wand in the water, unable to tear her gaze from the sobbing wreck in front of her. She found something, and pulled it out, crying desperately, _"Riddikulus!"_ But it was only a gnarled stick, and the thing in front of her looked at her pitiful attempt before _smiling_ and shifting to-

A red-eyed figure, laughing at her as she scrabbled in the water, looking as hard as she could…

"He's dead already, girl, you're too late…" the Dark Lord hissed. "Your attempts are for naught… perhaps I'll end your life here and now, to spare you the trouble later…"

"You're not real!" she told him in a gasping voice. "You're not- not real-"

She found her wand then, bringing it to bear. _"Riddikulus!"_ she managed.

But she had no coherent thought in mind, and so he shifted once again, melding into a dark man, a man with pitch black hair and a tired, defeated expression that made her stare and try to swallow…

"You failed," he told her, looking down at his hands tiredly. "I failed. We all did. The kiss would be more bearable than this…"

"No," she whispered. "No, you can't… you can't give up, not you…"

Sirius looked up at her, and a strange expression took him. "Why not?" he asked her. And then- "Why not, Hermione?" he was yelling hoarsely, standing and staggering over to her with rage in his eyes. "Why shouldn't I give up, when I needed you and you failed?"

_Not real_, her mind supplied faintly, unhelpfully. _He's not real, you know it…_

"Please," she found herself crying instead. "It's not my fault, I- It's not my fault-"

"Did you think because I wasn't there that I didn't know?" he asked in a furious whisper, close enough to touch her. "That I wouldn't do anything because I couldn't see it…"

"I thought you'd understand," she whimpered, and Hermione felt a part of herself coming to the forefront now, a part that had been locked away, pushed aside… "You always said I was smart before…"

"I was wrong," he said coldly. "I was wrong about everything. You're nothing but pretensions and dissembling. I should have seen it before."

It was so awful seeing that disappointment and anger on his face, directed at her…

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm so sorry, I should have been quicker… I should've managed, somehow…"

"You didn't," he hissed at her, and she felt the back of his hand connect with her cheek, stinging. Hermione stumbled back at the force of it, clasping one hand to her cheek in horrified pain. "Sorry doesn't fix anything, Hermione," Sirius told her, seething with anger that was trying to fill a kind of hollow emptiness. "It doesn't bring Harry back."

But a part of her was beginning to struggle, to wonder. Because none of this had happened yet – what was she afraid of, Sirius was clearly not here- he was angry at something that hadn't occurred yet, he couldn't be real-

_"Riddikulus,"_ that other part of her said calmly, watching as his expression changed to confusion – he was wearing Harry's sweater from Mrs. Weasley, a bright red, and Hermione laughed as she saw the almost aristocratic man stuck in such a piece of clothing.

The boggart winced, stumbling backward as her laughter increased, almost hysterical, and the wardrobe slammed shut on it, moving as it did so she could make her way out to the exit.

People stared at her as she limped out, favoring her ankle and feeling at her cheek, which had begun to bruise slightly.

Lupin said nothing as he put down her marks. Harry had no time to say anything as he went after her, but Ron looked ready to say something.

"I'm going to go get cleaned up, if that's all right," she said in a surprisingly mild voice.

Professor Lupin nodded. "Yes, that's perfectly fine, Miss Granger."

She left without another word, to make her way numbly up the hill, into the courtyard, up the steps…

Hermione stopped, staring, as another figure hurried past her. An adult she'd never seen before, in a large bowler hat – he looked harried and slightly nervous…

"Um, excuse me?" she asked, and he stopped in surprise. "Can I help you? Is there somewhere you need to get to?"

The man turned around, gasping for breath. "I – well – no, my dear, that's quite all right – I know where Hagrid's hut is – but thank you for the offer-" He paused again, still breathing hard as she frowned and tried to assimilate this information.

"You're a witness to the appeal, then?" she asked, puzzled. "Do you work in the Dangerous Creatures department?"

He chuckled, surprising her. "Oh my heavens no, my girl." He stuck his hand out and she took it uneasily, feeling acutely the sweat on it and vowing silently to herself to wash her hands later. "My name is Cornelius Fudge – I'm going down to sign off on the death warrant for the Hippogriff."

Hermione flinched, pulling her hand back before she could stop herself. "That's awful!" she said. "The appeal isn't over yet, and already you've decided to kill the poor thing?" Some part of her insisted that she was talking back to the Minister of Magic, but her voice of reason rarely took precedence in times of crusading.

Fudge blinked, then stood back up straight, flattening his robes. "I – well, there's not much hope for the thing, is there? I'm sorry to have brought up such a conversation topic – don't you have exams at this hour, in any case?" He was eyeing her suspiciously now, as though she were skiving off some important exam to run about the stairs up to Hogwarts, knocking into people.

"I finished," she told him, one hand going instinctively to the bruise on her face. "I'm done with all of them, in fact. I was just returning to my dormitory."

The Minister seemed slightly put off by the fact that he couldn't ignore her as just another rule-breaking teen, but he stood straight nonetheless. "Well, Miss – ah – miss. Perhaps you should continue up to your dormitory. There _is_ a mass murderer on the loose, after all."

Hermione's eyes moved to the dementors patrolling the grounds, and her mouth flattened into a grim line before she could stop herself. "Yes, there certainly is. I won't keep you from your business, then."

Fudge blinked, as though expecting a retort, but hurried away again as quickly as he had been before, having caught his second wind.

Hermione waited until he was out of sight – and ran up the stairs as quickly as she was able, toward a secret room, in the corner between two walls…

000000

Sirius groaned, rubbing at his forehead and staring into the fire. He'd had something of a long day, between continuing talks with his old friend, planning with Dumbledore on the rather important topic of his innocence, and trying to decide whether it was a good thing or not that Hermione was going to be helping him again next year.

She was brilliant, he'd very easily give her that. And loyal, and infinitely helpful, and would probably work herself to death without him to stop her (as Harry and Ron quite obviously were still unaware of the timeturner and therefore able to do nothing about it). However.

Yes. There was that 'however' again.

He was putting her in an inordinate amount of danger by keeping her close. He was a hunted man on both sides of 'the lines'. And Hermione had a very good future ahead of her, as long as she didn't get into any serious trouble.

Housing a convict was serious trouble. In fact, it was the kind of serious trouble that warranted time in Azkaban.

Sirius flinched at this idea, watching the flames lick at the logs in the fireplace with tension taking his limbs. It would never come to that. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't wish Azkaban on anyone but one very special rat, and most especially not on her. His fingers twisted on the arm of the chair as he remembered – every happy thought, every little bit of joy, sucked ruthlessly away until you were little but a suffering husk, watching visions of the dead, for they were dead, and it was his fault they were dead, sometimes, and sometimes they'd accuse him of it-

He felt suddenly that his breathing had sped up, and that his expression had twisted into an agonized mask. Sirius closed his eyes, pushing away the vision of dancing, mocking flames.

He would never wish that on her. Never.

Just the thought of her eyes, so warm and so full of life, staring at unseen horrors, sunken in with shadows put behind them…

A slight noise from behind him made him spin in his seat, hand going for his wand. No one was there.

His eyes narrowed, and he brought the wand up to point toward the spot he'd heard it from. "Show yourself," he stated, having had quite enough experience with invisibility cloaks to recognize one at work.

Sirius' glance flitted toward the chair, where the borrowed invisibility cloak was still hanging. Not that he'd expected it to be gone.

"Well?" he said, straining his ears for any stray sounds.

"Oh honestly," came an amused voice. "It's just me."

He didn't relax at the familiar tone until the cloak was thrown off, however, revealing a slightly frazzled but dazzlingly smiling Hermione Granger. His mind gave a jolt as he remembered his prior thoughts on her, and he purposely took in her happy figure and committed it to memory. Every wrinkle in her clothing, every stray hair – the way her lips were slightly parted, and the slight flush on her cheeks, her triumphant manner...

In her arms was a very sullen looking black-spotted dog, which was struggling madly to get free of her grip.

"You shouldn't have," he said wryly, lowering his wand slowly. "Seriously – what's the dog for? And where did you get hold of _another_ cloak? Those things are supposed to be extraordinarily rare, unless something important's happened in the last twelve years."

Hermione grimaced. "I'm about to go back in time and replace it, actually. And this dog… ah…" She was suddenly looking down, fiddling nervously with her robes. Sirius had a bad feeling – her face looked like Remus', after one of their more guilty tricks. As though she were preparing to throw herself on the ground and beg forgiveness.

"Hermione," he said slowly, beginning to dread her answer to the question he hadn't even asked yet. "What about the dog?"

She swallowed. "Well – see – it's not really a dog. It's sort of a – um -"

The girl paused, as though waiting for some miracle to save her. Sirius waited patiently as the miracle didn't come. "Yes?"

Hermione gulped. "It'sahippogriff!" she burst out. "It's Buckbeak – oh, I'm so sorry to ask something like this of you, but they were going to _kill_ him, and Hagrid looked so _miserable_ and that prat Malfoy was gloating-"

Sirius' eyes widened. "What- what exactly _are_ you asking me, Hermione?" he asked, assimilating the information and finding he really didn't like what he was hearing. And then – "What about Malfoy?" Sirius said sharply, watching as she began to hyperventilate. "He didn't try something, did he?"

Hermione blinked.

"Um – no," she said, confused. "Why?"

He dismissed the thought that came to him, then, that she might not necessarily have known it if he _had-_ "Nothing," he reassured her, keeping his face carefully blank. "But you're saying you want me to take care of this thing?"

She smiled nervously. "Well – well yes. I can't do it, they'd find him. But you're going to have to leave at some point, you said, so if you could just take him with you and drop him off somewhere in the wild… all the books I researched said they readapt really easily, so it wouldn't be too much trouble-" Hermione broke off as she realized she was beginning to ramble. "I'm sorry," she said shamefacedly. "It was utterly against the rules, but I felt it was the only right thing to do."

Sirius did something then that she probably had not been expecting. He laughed.

"It was clever of you," he told her, watching as her face turned surprised and relieved and maybe just a little gratified. "There shouldn't be a problem with it, the way you say it," he continued, feeling inordinately pleased with himself as she brightened immediately. "Hippogriffs live in the hills, don't they?" he said, trying to stretch his mind back to Care of Magical Creatures.

"Oh – yes," Hermione said, finding her voice. "Temperate climate," she added helpfully. And then, her face fell as she let the poor puppy to the floor. It moved immediately over to the rug next to the fireplace, lying down stiffly, as though ruffling its non-existent feathers, before closing its eyes – and snoring.

"I… I don't know how to change him back," Hermione admitted shame-facedly. "I can only do the forward side of the transformation, and I thought, as you're well acquainted with dogs…"

He shrugged, brow knitted as he thought of other things. "Shouldn't be a problem, if I look up Hippogriff anatomy before I go."

He inwardly ruminated on the complications of the whole idea, knowing as he did that he would be taking on the creature whether it was practical or not. It was a relatively small request, and worth quite a bit to quite a few people – among them, of course, Hermione.

That was the crux. Hermione. How could he refuse her, when he'd just been thinking how much she was risking on his behalf?

He looked up at her, ready to reply, but stopped abruptly.

There was a darkened spot, blackish blue, on the side of her right cheek. A bruise, spreading just over the pronounced cheekbone, as though she had been hit…

Before he could stop himself, his hand rose to it, fingers brushing it confusedly. Hermione flinched, and pulled back, looking at him in a very strange way that he couldn't quite understand.

"Hermione," he said, his voice tinted with something he himself didn't recognize. "What happened?"

She smiled, but he instantly recognized it as the smile of someone trying to hide something. "Buckbeak hit me accidentally with his wing while I was getting him away," she lied, too easily, so easily that he saw right through it.

Sirius felt his face darken. "Then it was a person," he said quietly, in a tone that seemed to set her slightly on edge. Something inside him constricted as she stepped back in what she must have thought to be an unobtrusive way. "Who was it?" he demanded, stepping forward stubbornly to match her, grabbing her shoulders. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide, slightly frightened and slightly confused. "Why is it always Malfoy?" she asked in a high, quivering voice. "He hasn't even come near me since…"

"Since what?" Sirius asked, immediately suspicious.

And then, she did something peculiar. She looked down at her hand quickly, as though remembering something.

"Since I slapped him," Hermione answered promptly, her gaze still fixed with a horrified fascination on his angry face. "Look, I can take care of myself, Sirius-"

He glared down at her. "I think we've already established that you can't," he told her coldly. "Hermione, you're only thirteen-"

"Fourteen," she interrupted in a strange voice. "I'm fourteen."

Sirius shook his head. "Your birthday is during the summer, you told me. You're still thirteen, even if it's only a few months away."

"No," she repeated, slightly stubborn and slightly offended. "I'm fourteen because of the timeturner. Thirty-six hour days, all year, sometimes more. It easily makes up the time between now and then."

Sirius wondered for a moment when she'd become so perceptive and so frightening. Then he remembered she'd always been that way.

He released her reluctantly, searching her for some kind of clue, some kind of give away motion that would tell him what it was that had happened to her. Hermione seemed unable or unwilling to admit that anything had happened at all, though, so he determined to himself to find out on his own, if at all possible. She, for one, was not going to say a word.

"I'm going now," she informed him, still sounding slightly spooked. "I'll – I'll come see you later tonight."

And before he could stop her, she twisted the small golden hourglass from her shirt and turned it twice.

Hermione disappeared.

Two more hours added to her age, this time. Why hadn't he thought of that before?

Sirius shook his head, disturbed by his lack of understanding on the subject. The timeturner was a dangerous object, for all that she'd been allowed its use. And he had a feeling that he still didn't know everything about her connection with it…

000000

Hermione didn't come back that night.

Nor did she come the next. Or the next.

It was at this point that Sirius decided things had gone far enough and scattered caution to the wind. If nothing else, it would wake her up.

So it was that the night before Hermione would be going to King's Cross station, he slipped on the invisibility cloak, activated the Marauder's Map, and stalked quite easily up to the painting of the Fat Lady that guarded the Gryffindor commonroom. It was hard, staying out of the way of the throngs of students that walked the halls – he'd had to leave in time to have someone open the portrait – but Sirius Black had been and always would be a master of invisibility.

"I – I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten it again-" a frazzled student was saying, looking close to tears. "Hermione told me again this morning, and I wrote it down somewhere, but I seem to have forgotten where I placed that too-"

"Oh just go in," the Fat Lady snapped exasperatedly, apparently used to this situation and this particular student. At his sudden hopeful look, she sighed and opened wide. The boy walked in quickly, as though not believing his luck, and Sirius leapt through jovially behind him, neither entity the wiser for his entrance.

The commonroom was almost exactly as he remembered it. He'd only been in there once before since his departure of Hogwarts as a student, but he'd been slightly preoccupied with Hermione at that point in time. Upon noticing that she'd not moved from the commonroom for a while, and that her classes were supposed to be going at that time, he'd felt a fear grip him that something might be terribly wrong…

But she'd merely fallen asleep on her book, murmuring equations and shifting uncomfortably against the table, her messily tangled hair spilling over her face and catching in her mouth.

And he'd felt something unfortunate in his stomach at the sight, at the sudden and very clear knowledge that he'd been part of the cause. So he'd picked her up, gently, so as not to wake her, and murmured the counter-charm to the ward on the girls' dormitory as he settled her in her bed, turning her timeturner back and watching with bemusement as she disappeared, not to reappear in the bed. Because she had, of course, been gone when he'd gotten there…

Now, just as before, he was certain that something was wrong. And, as this had been the solution before, it would have to be again.

Sirius swept past the milling students, grinning wryly at two older red-heads, who were plotting in a corner, their voices carrying plans of mischief over to his ears. He stopped at the stairs to the girls' dorm, then whispered the exonerating words that would let him pass (oh, how James had delighted in the discovery of that particular spell in seventh year!) and moving upstairs to the room on his map with a little dot named Hermione Granger resting on her bed inside of it.

He opened the door cautiously, quietly, not wanting to scare her…

She was there, sitting quietly on the bed; her knees were pulled up to her chest, her hands resting over them, twined tightly in a little golden chain… Hermione's lip trembled as she pulled the timeturner into her palms, staring, twisting unhappily…

Sirius found himself oddly entranced as her hand tightened on the hourglass. Her knuckles turned white, and he wondered fleetingly at the fact that the glass hadn't broken at the pressure.

She seemed to realize what she was doing, the next moment, because she hurriedly pulled the hourglass up by its chain and tucked it inside her shirt. Hermione took a deep breath, cleansing her face of its worried expression, before lying back on the bed and closing her eyes…

He didn't want to disturb her, but there was really no better time.

Sirius moved silently to the small bed, reaching out gently to touch her on the shoulder…

Hermione jerked awake, eyes wide, looking around in panic-

"It's just me," he whispered, leaning back on the nightstand. "I'd rather not take off the cloak if that's all right."

Strangely, Hermione didn't seem reassured in the least. She was grasping at her heart as though it had been struck by something, and her face was twisted in the exact expression of agony he'd feared to see on it. There was a darkness, a haunted blackness, because some things could barely be endured, let alone remembered…

On instinct, he moved forward to pull her to him, to take that horrible look away. She was cold, he noted dimly, her hands frozen as though she'd steeped them in snow in the middle of spring.

Hermione pressed into him, at first, trembling, acting for all the world like a frightened animal. But she soon calmed, and when he pulled away, she was looking much more like herself again.

The darkness had disappeared. Completely.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned though she couldn't see it.

"I- I don't know," she managed, rubbing one palm down her face. "I really don't know, I just felt so _awful_ all of a sudden-" Hermione broke off then, as though remembering something, and that look passed over her eyes again, the one that spoke of permanent suffering, but the one she seemed somehow able to banish…

"It was a dream," Hermione whispered, shuddering.

His shoulders slumped in relief, even as he wondered where she'd acquired such nightmares. He wanted to ask, but it was obviously a personal matter. Instead, he said, "We need to talk."

She nodded vaguely, still looking slightly unsettled. "Yes. I suppose so."

He wanted to tear that scared, uncomprehending expression off her face. And while he was at it, he wanted to make the fading bruise on her cheek disappear completely.

"Who gave you that?" he said in a low voice. Hermione didn't seem to understand what he meant, so he brought his hand to the bruise again, and she tensed for just a moment.

"No one gave it to me," she insisted weakly. "Buckbeak-"

"Had nothing to do with it," he finished in a dark voice. "Tell me who did it, Hermione."

The girl sighed suddenly, deeply. "If you tell me why you're so suspicious of Malfoy, I will," she said wearily.

Sirius felt his expression darken. No, she wouldn't be hearing the truth, but if he told her _a_ secret, made it sound convincing- "I'm related to him," he said reluctantly, noting with satisfaction the surprise on her face. "Distantly, but it's there. I know his family, Hermione, they're… well, they're the kind of people you stay suspicious of."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, as though wanting to ask something more – he wondered for the moment if she'd caught the fact that he hadn't told her the full truth, but she shook her head the next moment and said instead: "It was – it was the boggart. The one in the exam. It's not something you need to worry about, I just – it's slightly personal. It's not something that would ever happen in real life, if that helps."

He felt a little bit of tension drain from him, though he was certain she wasn't telling him everything. They were even, in that respect, and Hermione probably knew it. She was a smart girl.

"I suppose that's good enough," he sighed. Then, awkwardly, he patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave.

She stopped him before he could get too far, flailing for a moment, then putting a hand on his arm. "You- you will owl me, won't you?" Hermione said anxiously. "I just wanted to ask, I don't know if I'll see you again before we leave tomorrow…"

Sirius felt her cold hand through his robes. Always cold, Hermione, despite the fact that she had the warmest heart he'd ever seen. "If I can," he promised. "As long as you write back."

She smiled, looking just a little bit teary, and nodded. "Of course I will. And – and take care of Buckbeak, won't you? Let me know if he picks back up his hunting instincts…" she trailed off uncertainly, apparently at a lack for any last minute things to say, as he stepped back from her hand and moved slowly toward the door.

He left the room then, but turned just before he closed the door to catch a last glimpse of her, to hold her in his memory for the two months he wouldn't see her.

Sirius' last memory of Hermione in her third year was a girl of tousled chestnut hair, piercing brown eyes, and a slightly wistful expression – he remembered later, though, that she had held a glittering golden timeturner in her hands then, and that her knuckles had been tightfisted around it with worry as he left.

END YEAR 3.


End file.
